


What Can I Say?

by GalaxyFox, Mata_Hari



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wade is 18 and Peter is 17, basically an AU, implied sweater theft, my co-author is insane, so is mine, this is a mess, wade has his boxes and also breaks the fourth wall a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 48,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyFox/pseuds/GalaxyFox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mata_Hari/pseuds/Mata_Hari
Summary: When a masked guy takes a knife for Peter in a back alley at 9 pm, he's not expecting for their relationship to--Hold up. Did you just say relationship? That sounds pretty romant--Wade, be quiet if you want me to actually write this story.Fine.For their relationship to develop into a life-changing--I'm sorry, life-changing? This sounds very promising.BASICALLY, Wade and Peter get into shenanigans as Wade and Peter tend to do, there's a plot I promise, and happiness and stress are all mixed together. Fun times. (Happy now, Wade?)Very.





	1. peter: in which our story begins

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so here's our insane Spideypool fanfic. Updates weekly, (on Fridays.) Wade has his boxes. (For those without the context, they're basically just voices in his head.) Yellow is [] and White is {}. There are two authors, obviously, so when Wade talks to us (he breaks the fourth wall a _lot_ ) -this is one of us- and the other doesn't have any changes. This is a pretty short chapter. They'll just keep getting longer as we introduce plot. Enjoy!!!

Peter looked out over the vast and beautiful skyline of New York City, devouring a really quite terrible churro from the place across the street. Must remember never to go back there. Definitely not enough cinnamon. He sighed. New Yorkers these days. Always looking for the easy way out. 

“Holy SHIT!” yelped a muffled voice from a while away. Peter sprang into action, throwing his churro over his shoulder into an open car window as he webbed the nearest lamppost. Any excuse to get rid of that churro. _Sorry, Tony's credit card._ He swung quickly towards the source of the noise. He could hear a commotion from an alleyway, and the sharp clang of knives hitting each other. He crept slowly along a rooftop, sensing that he was close. Also hearing. He can do that too.

Peter came to a stop crouched on a gutter, squinting into the alleyway below. _It’s too dark. I’m gonna need to go down there._ Suddenly there was a creaking sound and the gutter fell, bringing him with it.

_Well that works too._

Landing on his feet, Peter took in the situation. Two rather startled-looking people peered at him from either side. One of them (who looked suspiciously like Peter’s social studies teacher), had just thrown a knife at the other, which Peter had gotten in the way of. Typical. It spun slowly towards Peter, who felt that it was, in fact, spinning rather fast and that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time, despite the fact that he had time to think up an entire paragraph. Writing is weird.

“Thank _plot_ for slow motion,” sung the other figure to no one in particular, jumping over Peter and in front of the knife. He was wearing a red masked suit, much like Peter’s, although he had many weapons, including two katana strapped to his back. The long sharp knife stuck right below his collarbone.

Blood beaded around the blade, but the masked figure pulled it out easily, (“Ouchie!”) tossing the knife to the side. Peter still hadn’t moved. 

“ _Why_ would you do that?!” Peter asked incredulously to the masked figure, nearly forgetting there was another guy that just threw a knife at them.

“That knife wasn’t meant for you, idiot,” he answered, as though that was enough of an explanation. “I’m Deadpool. You’re welcome.” He turned away, running back towards the guy-that-looked-like-he-taught-social-studies. His name was Mark.

“Hold on ONE SECOND,” Deadpool said, holding his hand out as if to pause the battle. “How do you even know that? That’s not realistic! Plus, it doesn’t matter to the story!” There was a short pause.

“Why can’t I have some burnt brownies?!” Wade screamed as he launched himself back into battle. 

Peter looked at him worriedly. _Is he okay? He did save me. I think. I’m pretty sure that’s what that was..._ Mark launched himself at Deadpool, throwing rounds of shurikens in his direction. He missed all of them. Peter, finally coming to his senses, shot Mark with his webbing to pin him to the side of one building. 

Mark struggled, but Peter _thought_ he knew that only extreme high-tech weapons could cut through his webs. 

Well I mean he was right about that, to be fair. “Weapon” is a broad category. A cream cheese spreader can be a weapon if it wants to be. 

Peter was just turning to Deadpool to ask what the hell his deal was when a bullet hit him in the chest. He fell over, as one does.

“Oh my Lucifer,” Deadpool ran forward, slicing one of his katana through Mark, who ran away screaming about children and “I'M NOT PAID ENOUGH”. Deadpool turned, kneeling beside Peter. 

“You alright? Spidey-boy?” He poked Peter, who groaned. “Aaalright. Where do you live?”


	2. wade: 3xp10de

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Wade! (And what it's like in his head)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade's boxes refresher: [white] {yellow} (Nobody except him and the authors can hear them.)
> 
> Okay, because we have no patience this will update Tuesdays and Fridays now. And again, chapters will start getting longer but we're still setting up the characters a bit. Enjoy! :)

Wade half dragged half carried Spiderman out of the alleyway and down the street. 

_Lucky I drove tonight, eh, author? Quite the coincidence if I do say so myself._

Wade, if you shut up I might write in some brownies. 

_I can just bake some myself, you know._

{No, we can’t. Remember the last time you tried to make brownies?}

[Defying all logic, you're shit at making brownies yet good at baking? This is lazy writing.]

Wade’s car was a rusty red Subaru. The license plate spelled “3Xp10de,” and was half hanging off of it. He had a bumper sticker that said, “Honk if you like chaos and also loud noises,” and there were like seven dents randomly in all the doors. (He figured if he could dent the whole car you wouldn’t be able to tell it was dented. Doesn’t quite work that way.) There was a stench of old starbursts, candy canes, and chocolate. 

“Wait just one sec,” he told Spiderman, putting him on the ground in a puddle as he opened the car door. “I need to get the tarp. You’re not bleeding all over my car,” he went to the back and spread an old, bloody tarp across the seat. “Alright,” he said, picking Spiderman up and dumping him unceremoniously into the seat. “Welcome to my home. Not that I *technically* live here, but where else will I scream Frozen at the top of my lungs?” 

[It’s horrific.]

Yes, it is.

-Well, I think it’s adorable. Hi Wade.-

_Wait wait wait. There’s two of you?_

-Yep.-

_What have I done to deserve this._

Do you want to know?

\- ;) -

Spiderman spoke, reminding Wade he was still there.

“Karen, is there any chance there are pain meds in this suit?” Wade’s heart lifted. Could he be like him?

{We are one of a kind. Don’t get your hopes up.}

“Mr. Stark programmed me to react to every circumstance, including many options to subside the pain for any wound. The bullet in your chest could be fatal, and I was programmed to notify the compound if you have any sort of injury. Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Thanks, Karen. The meds, though…?”

“Of course.”

Wade looked down. _That’s fine. No surprise._ But he was still a little disappointed. 

[Still alone, sucker]

“So,” Spiderman said from the backseat, “Who are you? And thanks,” he added, smiling.

-AWWWWW.-

AAWW.

[Idiots] 

“I’m Wade Wilson. Also Deadpool. I am a good guy. Probably. Sometimes I wonder. That was probably unnecessary for me to say. Never mind I’m just Wade. How about you?” Spiderman grinned, pulling off his mask.

“Peter.”

Wade blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love Spideypool :)


	3. peter: chocolate & ketchup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha thinks putting chocolate chips in waffles is basically a crime, Tony really hates Deadpool, and Peter starts to realize that Wade Wilson isn't the same guy he thought he knew...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!!! School's almost over, thank all of the gods.

“PETER B. PARKER YOU--” Steve laid a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Hello Peter,” Steve said. His voice was calm, but his face was white and anxious. “Why didn’t you call? We’ve been worried sick about you. Karen said you were hurt.” Peter nodded, swaying. His vision was spotted. The blood loss was starting to get to him. He fell backward, and Tony caught him.

“You. Have a BULLET WOUND IN YOUR CHEST. AND IT TOOK YOU THIRTY MINUTES TO GET HERE?!”

“It’s a… long drive-”

“A ‘LONG DRIVE’??!!!” 

“Tony, let’s get him to the doctor first, alright?” Tony nodded grudgingly, handing Peter to Steve, who carried him easily down the hall.

 

Peter woke up in his own room, in the tower. He only had a slight headache and it only kind of hurt to breathe. That was pretty good considering… right. He was shot in the chest. The memory flooded back to him, and he grimaced at his own past stupidity. And who was that guy with the katana? _Right._ Wade Wilson. Peter was going to have to thank him sometime. He sighed. His parents were gonna be really angry that he hadn’t called. Looking back he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t, except for perhaps the fact that Wade was so friendly and nice...

Peter hauled himself out of bed, smoothing down his hair half-heartedly with his hand. He knew he looked like a mess, but at that moment he didn’t particularly feel like caring.

When Peter stepped into the large kitchen, which was in the part of the tower that all of the Avengers shared, he could already hear a conversation going on. 

“Waffles with chocolate chips are great! What are you talking about?!”

“You’re a disgrace, Clint, no wonder you still go to gymnastics meets just to buy those big pretzels. _Chocolate chip waffles_ I’m telling you. It’s just not right. Oh, hi Peter!” Natasha turned to Peter and threw him a plate. She liked catching him off guard with heavy objects; she said she wanted to keep his reflexes sharp. He just barely caught it with the tips of his fingers.

“So, heard you got shot,” Clint raised his eyebrows jokingly and held them there for a minute before banging his waffle against the table.

“Shoot, I was gonna think of a pun but you could say it…”

“Clint no,” Natasha said sadly, staring at her waffle.

“Backfired!!!!”

Peter took a plain waffle as Thor walked in. 

“Oh look, tis ano-Thor Midgardian snack,” Thor said, smiling at his own bad pun. He was rapidly becoming obsessed with “Midgardian culture.” He usually stayed primarily in Asgard when there weren't any big fights going on, but he had been living in the tower for a few months now.

Natasha sank to the floor in despair, whispering, “There’s two of them.”

Thor took a waffle and opened the fridge as he would a treasure chest, staring heroically at its contents. 

“Hm. This looks nice. And this. These two things would go well together. That looks interesting. This looks…. Elf. Ooh look we have that on Asgard! Fermented chicken baby sauce, I love that stuff. Ooh I have a plan, watch, you mortals as I create a waffle to beat all others,” Peter, Clint, and Natasha watched as Thor took a bunch of stuff out of the fridge and piled it atop his waffle. 

“You see, you Midgardians don’t understand that there is NO LIMIT to how many foods you can fit on a single circle of bread,” Thor said as he stuck his waffle in the toaster oven.

“Peter,” Friday’s voice interrupted Thor, “Mr. Stark wishes to see you.” Peter nodded dully, stuffing the rest of his waffle into his mouth. “Thanks, Friday.”  


Peter turned to the door, his gaze sweeping the chaos of the kitchen once more before taking a deep breath. Tony was gonna be _mad._

“What the Helheim is ketchup and does it go with chocolate?”  


Clint nodded enthusiastically. 

 

“Peter,” Tony cleared his throat. “What you did was stupid and damn reckless-”

“Dad, I know I wasn't thinking, but please don't be mad. I'm really sorry.” Tony leaned back into his worktable, crossing his arms.

“It was amateur, really,” Peter’s brow creased in confusion. “Thinking the enemy threat was subdued, assuming they had no other weapons. Never assume anything. You’ll start acting like me.” Peter took a tentative breath. 

“You’re not mad?” 

“No, I’m not mad anymore, Pete. I trust you, kid. You earned that suit of yours and it’s best you use it. Just, next time… call?” Peter’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Sure, Dad.”

 

“Hey Tony, you ever heard of Deadpool?” Peter peered around the glass door that opened into Tony’s lab. Not that you need to peer around a glass door, but still. 

“Jarvis,” Tony commanded, not looking up from the Stark Tech he was working on.

“Right away, Sir.” Blue lines of light sprung upwards in the middle of the lab, forming themselves into letters and 3D pictures of a one Wade Wilson. “Deadpool is a deadly, inescapable mercenary known to be based in New York City. When seen, Deadpool has been known to talk to himself and is speculated to be insane. He has been known and seen healing himself, most likely an accelerated healing factor. Deadpool’s true identity is unknown.”

“So basically, Pete, he’s a psychotic superhuman murderer. The Avengers have been trying to take him down for years, but he's just too fast to capture. He's one of the most well-known killers out there. I’m surprised _you_ didn’t know about him. Why were you wondering again?”  


Peter closed his eyes. “No reason.”

 

Peter flipped open his laptop, the blue screen illuminating the small corner of his room. Surely Deadpool wasn’t as bad as Tony had said… Peter refused to believe it. The man who had helped him didn’t seem that bad. To be fair… he did seem slightly insane. 

_Deadpool: New York City’s Most Famous Mercenary-- And what we’re going to do about him_

_You’ve heard of Deadpool, the mercenary that rose to fame when he set the highest hired killing record in Chicago last year, murdering…._ Peter slammed closed his laptop, feeling sick. He webbed his phone into his hand, pulling up his texts.

 _hey._ Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. 

_whats up Pete?_ Ned texted back immediately, even though it was the middle of the night.

 _Parker you good?_ MJ asked.

 _yeah r u ok?_ Wanda answered, worried. Peter didn’t usually text this late.

_have any of u heard of deadpool??_

_Parker. What have you done to be texting us at 2:35 in the morning urgently asking about a murderous mercenary?_

_so u have heard of him then_

Peter breathed, trying to steady himself. _Murderous mercenary._ This was not the man who saved him and brought him home after taking a knife for him, who drove him back in a beat-up little car and joked with him, keeping him awake so he wouldn’t end up in a coma. This was not Wade Wilson.

His phone buzzed again, but he set it aside, wandering to his bed, onto which he promptly collapsed.


	4. wade: magic lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade once again meets Mark (yes he will be a reoccurring character), who needs some better interior design. Peter asks wade about his job-- and whether he's insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey longer chapter this time! We're hoping to make them all longer in the future, so that's real fun :). Also yes Mark is actually a real person. I hope he isn't evil though. Enjoy!!

Wade unsheathed his katana, running sideways on the wall of a brick apartment building. Driving one blade onto the corner of the structure, he used his momentum to swing his body around it and crash, feet first, into the third-floor window, scattering shattered glass over the fluffy green rug.

“This guy needs some better interior design,” Wade muttered, nudging the point of his katana into the corner of the violently orange couch.

[ _That_ we can agree on.]

“Deadpool.” Wade turned to the tall, armored man behind him.

“Mark,” The man’s face rumpled in confusion.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“The magic of the AUTHOR’S OMNISCIENCE.”

Go get ‘em, Wade.

Wade charged forwards, raising his katana into a fighting stance. “Really nice place you got here, Mark,” Mark darted to the side, unsheathing his own double-bladed sword.

{A bit old fashioned, don’t you think?}

I mean, a bit, I guess.

{Yeah by now this sort of thing is eAsy}

[Sooo…?]

{You’ll change it?}

Fiiinne. But you’d better make this fight scene good.

Mark darted to the side, swinging his chainsaw-ish gun of a weapon over his shoulder and into his hands. Mark stared down at his weapon confusedly, with a panicked expression on his face that quickly melted into smooth malice.

“You got an upgraaaddeee!!” Wade sang, much to Mark’s confusion.

[Just kill the guy already.]

-Let’s not be toooo hasty.-

[????]

-He’s needed for plot reasons, okay?? Also, he’s my social studies teacher and I don’t want him to die.-

And he’s having a rough day Wade. He just got kicked out of Walmart trying to buy dill pickles.  
_Why was he kicked out?_

-‘Meerkats aren’t allowed’ apparently.-

Wade gasped. “You have a meerkat??” he asked Mark. “That’s so cool!” Mark snarled. He didn’t want anyone to hurt his meerkat.

Wade swung his katana foreword, slashing the air millimeters from Mark’s face in an invitation to begin. The kind of invitation only Wade would initiate. Mark just swung his bladed gun into Wade’s chest, the whirring of the chainsaw starting up and filling the room. Wade landed in the kitchen and on his feet, katanaless. He had dropped them somehow for plot reasons.

“Aaww come on those were the only weapons I brought today!”

Yes I know, Wade, I wrote it that way. 

-You might find a brownie in your back pocket though!-

“I love brownies!!”

-Yeah I know I wrote it that way ;)-

Wade turned to see Mark rushing at him, gun in one hand, Wade’s katana in the other. Wade grinned as Mark’s blades raked the walls of the little hallway, creating an uneven cut through the puce flowered wallpaper. Turning the knobs of the stove to high, Wade rummaged through the kitchen cabinets (throwing the doors open hard enough to pull them off their hinges) until he found boxes and boxes of cereal and Mac n’ Cheese, which he held over the open flames before bombarding Mark with the flaming remnants of boxes of Lucky Charms.

“You might need a new apartment after this, eh Mark?” The cliche cheap brown carpet was becoming charred and black at his feet. Growling, Mark lunged at Wade, twisting in the air over the growing flames. Wade swerved to the side, trying to slip out of Mark’s outstretched arms. But Mark was quicker, thrusting out his chainsaw out and blocking Wade from moving without shredding his head to pieces. Using his momentary advantage, Mark maneuvered Wade’s outstretched arm, locking his own over Wade’s throat and shoving him against the fridge.

Not in the least affected, Wade reached to the side, securing in his hand a bread knife which he slashed point-upwards into the arm Mark used to hold him, creating a long gash that reached his elbow. Mark screeched as the serrated blade cut his flesh, finding the gaps in his mostly-for-looks decorative purple armor. Mark’s general color-coordinating needed a little help.

{Yeah he could use a set color palette}

[Maybe it’s for the best he’ll be getting a new apartment]

“Egh. That looks painful.”

“You think?” Mark’s voice was slightly strained, though he recovered rather quickly, pulling the knife out of his arm with a grimace. It clattered onto the linoleum tile. With the stove and cardboard still billowing smoke, Mark doubled over, coughing. Wade ran out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

“He’s really not gonna die, Authors?”

-Nahhh. He’ll be back. Social Studies teachers are basically invincible.-

He’ll also be kinda really angry and normal-villain-vengeance-ish. So look forward to that. :)

“I might say you’re nice for letting him live, but you did just let me drive a bread knife into him and leave him in a room where he could die choking.”

Cue EVIL LAUGHTER

-...I really hope my social studies teacher doesn’t see this. He’s a great teacher, for the record. Loves meerkats. Super friendly. Apparently happens to be evil in his free time.-

I’d be more worried by the fact that your social studies teacher would have to be reading fanfic.

-Oh god that’s true.-

:)

Wade shook his head, grinning.

{Wait!! Our katanaaaa}

Wade just reached into his pocket for his brownie.  
“These authors will get them back to us. Let’s go to lunch.”

Delmar’s Deli-Grocery was mostly full, enough that Wade just slipped into an empty table-for-two to wait for the line to diminish. 

“Say, authors, what was the point of that fight scene?”

Umm to show the progression of Mark’s character and your worrying capacity to use a bread knife as a fatal weapon?

-Don’t forget the fact that we put my Social Studies teacher in this fic. And we made him have a bad sense of style. He has a much better one in real life.-

I hope he doesn’t really have a violently orange couch.

-I wouldn’t really put it past him, to be honest. Oh yeah, and the fight also happened so you’d get hungry.-

The bell above the door to Delmar’s rung, the door opening to omit a certain brown-haired, adorable fluffy puppy of a main character.

His eyes scanned the little deli, settling on Wade, alone at his table. His face lit up in a grin that flickered for a second, as though he was remembering something. Wade waved him over, grinning. Peter looked uncertain whether to come nearer, but eventually, his curiosity won over his common sense and-- 

_Hold up one second. Why is it a bad idea to come over?_

{DUDE we LITERALLY murder people.}

_First of all, not kids, and second of all, not HIM!_

-He was warned against you by his dad.-

_...Oh. Well I wouldn’t know what that’s like would I?_

Jesus Christ, Wade.

_I’m just saying! Just because his dad said something doesn’t mean it’s the right decision, okay? I mean, Tony Stark HATES me! For no reason! It’s not fair!_

[In all fairness we do kill people.]

_WHAT DID I JUST SA-_

Okay, okay!! 

Peter looked uncertain whether to come nearer, but he always trusted his instincts and they said that Wade wasn’t going to hurt him, so he walked over.  
Better?

_Much._

“How’s your chest?” Wade asked, gesturing for Peter to sit down.

“‘S’ okay,” Peter said, looking preoccupied. He took a deep breath. “Just… Why didn’t you tell me you were a murderer? Why would you help me, anyway? There’s probably a price on my head...” he winced as if regretting reminding Wade that.

[Ah, shit. He hadn’t known.]

Wade frowned. “I only kill or capture bad people. Plus, you’re like, a teenager. I don’t kill kids.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “You’re a teenager too, aren’t you?”

“Ex-ac-tl-y,” Wade said, punctuating the word with twirls of his straw.

“How do you decide whether someone is bad?”

“I do research!”

-One of these days your research won’t be good enough.-

“So let me get this straight.”

{He’s not.}

“You’re definitely _not_ just trying to gain my trust before you capture me or murder me?”

“Definitely no killing of you,” Wade repeated. Peter relaxed a bit, though he still seemed on edge.

“Are you… like… insane?” Peter asked. “Well I mean I guess an insane person wouldn’t know if they were insane, but…”

“Not insane.” Wade said. “I think. Possibly insane. I think I’d know? Maybe not.”  
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Apparently you often talk to people that aren’t there.”

“Oh, my boxes! White and Yellow. Yeah. They’re voices in my head. Also, I can talk to the authors of the story.”

Peter frowned, getting up slowly. “That sounds like you’re pretty insane to me.”

“Wait! Don’t leave yet. Please just give me a chance to explain. Please? I promise I’ll be quick.” 

Peter shrugged, sitting back down. “Only ‘cause I’m bored and you probably can’t hurt me here. Plus,” he shook his phone, “I have all of the Avengers on speed dial. They could be here in seconds.”

Wade spoke as quickly as he could. “I told you!! I am not going to kill you. But okay. The voices in my head are named White and Yellow and they appeared around--” Wade paused. “When I got my powers. No one else can hear them except me. They’re sort of like really annoying friends that follow you around everywhere and won’t leave you alone to just have a conversation. Like right now, they’re both acting really offended. It’s so annoying to have two voices commenting on everything you do. And then the authors-- Well basically, I found out that we live in fanfiction, and these authors control everything that we do. They can make anything happen. And _they_ appear in my head too, because I’m a fourth-wall-breaking character or whatever.”

“Prove it,” Peter said. “Prove that the authors exist. Can you hear them right now?”

Oh wow I’m intrigued.

Wade looked confused. “Yeah?”

“Okay, ask them to make something appear. Ask them to make… a lamp appear on the table.”

_Guys. Lamp. Please._

-On it.-

A lamp appeared on the table right between Peter and Wade, causing Peter to jump back. He looked shocked. “You… you weren’t lying, were you?”

“Nope.”


	5. peter: starstruck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to school, for a not so normal day- they have a new student! Peter also finds what he was looking for in the city (that being trouble.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.
> 
>  
> 
> I really really hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Bye.

Peter gripped the straps of his backpack loosely, grinning as he looked up into Midtown School of Science and Technology. He vaulted up the steps, turning down the hallway, stopping reflexively at his locker. 

“Hey, Peter,” Ned leaned to the side, looking at Peter’s face.

“Hey, Ned,”

“You okay? Texting urgently asking about Deadpool at 2 a.m. doesn’t seem like a great state of mental health.” Peter nodded, slamming his locker. It was satisfying every time.

“Yeah, um, so I kind of met him?” Ned blinked. 

“You _what?_ ”

“Twice.” He blinked again.

“And you’re still _alive?_ What do you mean you _met him?!_ ” 

“He doesn’t kill kids. And he drove me home after some guy shot me in the side. We also had sandwiches together,” The incredulous look on Ned’s face made Peter grin as he turned into the science classroom. 

“See you at lunch!”

Peter turned down the row of cliche-found-in-every-averagely-funded-school science tables, dropping his notebooks and backpack beside his seat.

“Parker,” MJ acknowledged. Acknowledgement was good when it came to MJ- it meant she was in a good mood. To be fair, she didn’t look up from her sketchbook, instead narrowing her eyes at whichever newly crisis-ed person she had found.

The bell rang just as Peter dropped into his seat, pulling his science textbook in front of him.

“Excuse me? Would this be Ms. Morita’s classroom?” An accented voice interrupted the chatter. The girl who spoke was surveying the class with sparkling eyes, which landed on Peter and MJ. She wore her hair up, in complicated braided space buns, that seemed to have glittering crystals of glass woven in. Her dress was simple but well suited, a turtlenecked fitted t-shirt with a folding, almost flower-like tan skirt. Jewelry adorned her from head to toe, shining in the morning light.

If Peter was straight, he might have been starstruck. However, MJ was starstruck enough for the both of them.

“Shuri, Princess of Wakanda,” she introduced herself. “It is a pleasure.”

“Princess?” Flash Thompson sneered, “Is your job just to sit and look pretty?” 

“She doesn’t have to sit to look pretty,” MJ muttered.

“Actually, my job revolves more around the protection of my country using a potentially fatal worldwide discovery, vibranium. I supply my country and my brother with weapons and new technology, not to mention stitching and splinting his wounds every time he freezes up. So, this science class is a little below my level.”

“Well shit,” MJ said, her mouth agape. Shuri caught her eye, a grin twitching at the corner of her lips. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Shuri,” Ms. Morita interrupted, “and I sincerely hope you aren’t bored here. I’m sure we have some students, _Mr. Thompson_ , that might benefit from having a new bright mind in our class.” Shuri gave a slight bow.

“Now, Miss Shuri, choose whichever lab partners you wish, and class get back to work!” Shuri smiled brightly, making her way through the science tables to MJ and Peter.

“Peter Parker, yes? My brother works with your parents sometimes.”

“Yeah, I think Tony has talked about you and T’Challa.” Shuri nodded.

“And you are?” she directed the question at MJ, who was still mostly frozen in place. Peter nudged her.

“Michelle. But- um, my friends call me MJ,”

Shuri smiled. “Can I sit?”

MJ just nodded, scooting over slightly to make room. “You knew about her?” she murmured, turning to Peter.

“I didn’t know she was cute!” he whispered defensively.

“Cute is an understatement, Parker. Surely even you can see that.”

“So,” interrupted Peter, “Is there a reason you’ve come all the way to New York?”

“For having a normal high school experience, drama, dances, etc. Also for the sake of my nation and making ties with the Avengers.” She smiled. MJ melted a little.

 

“Wait so- _you really talked to Deadpool_?!” Peter nodded, sliding his unappetizing lunch tray onto the table. 

“Yeah, we were at Delmar’s together.”

“But isn’t he kind of... insane?”

“Aren’t we all kind of insane?” MJ sank into the seat one over from Peter- she never sat next to him. It was an MJ thing.

“It’s just you and Wade, MJ. Just you and Wade.”

“Wait. _Wade?_ You know his _name?_ No one knows Deadpool’s real identity!”

Peter shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out- he kind of told me.”

“ _He told you his name._ ” Ned shook his head, looking amazed. “He must really like you, Peter.”

This made Peter blush as he shoved more of the mushy cafeteria vegetables into his mouth.

“Apparently we’re in a fanfiction. Wade can talk to the authors.”

-Damn right he can.-

“That sounds pretty insane, like, who would write a fanfiction about us?”

“Probably some crazy ranting feminist people who found the MCU accidentally and then got obsessed with the entirety of the fandom even though there should be waaayyy more diversity and portrayal of different races, ethnicities, sexual preferences, gender identity, and such. I mean, it’s a good fandom, but seriously. Deadpool has more diversity than the whole MCU combined!” MJ shrugged. “So they probably rewrote some of it to suit their wants for the characters they love so much.”

Damn right we did.

Ned and Peter stared wonderingly at her for a second before returning to their conversation, thinking it no weirder than normal for MJ.

“What was he like though?” Ned was wide-eyed. Peter couldn’t seem to keep from blushing.

“He.. he was nice? And funny? And he kind of saved me? From death?” MJ leaned over.

“What do Tony and Steve think of him?”

“What do Tony and Steve think of who?” Shuri appeared behind them, looking out of place in the loud and common lunchroom. Ned, Peter, and MJ all shrugged in unison.

“Oookay then,” she dropped her tray across from MJ. 

“Hey,” Called Flash, waving at their table. “Why are you sitting with _her?_ ” The question was directed at Shuri, who was still standing. She promptly dropped into her seat.

“Because she’s cool and I like her,” Shuri answered smoothly, a clear dismissal. “Whatcha drawing?” She nodded to MJ’s notebook. MJ seemed to have regained her composure a bit, but she still hesitated. Shuri just tilted her head, giving MJ space to decide.

She handed Shuri the notebook.

“You drew this? All of this?” MJ nodded, biting her lip. “Woah.”

“I draw people in crisis,” She said, pointing to one drawing in particular, an unfinished sketch of Flash Thompson wallowing in rejection. “My preferred medium.”

“Did you just draw that? Like, since I turned him down?” MJ breathed a laugh. “No, I’m not that fast. He just always looks like that.” This made Shuri laugh, the kind of laugh that lit up her face. Ned and Peter shared a knowing glance.

 

When the bell finally rang for the end of school, Peter hurried out the door and down the street, ducking into an alleyway. He flung aside his backpack, hastily pulling on his suit. It always got stuck on his feet. He should figure out how to fix that.

He webbed up onto the roof, using the rickety fire escape to pull himself upwards and into the sky. Or at least into the air, where he swung from glassy skyscraper to glassy skyscraper, turning the heads of suited business men and women. He swung past Delmar’s, giving a small wave to Delmar himself, who shook his head affectionately back. Peter was looking for trouble, in a general sense, keeping up his duties as your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. He flew an arc around street corners, past Joe’s Pizza, and a little ways further, swinging over rows of Staten Island Ferries. 

It was a route he’d been taking for a while, swooping over banks, museums, etc. All the classics for robberies. It also stopped by a new churro stand, one he’d been meaning to try-

A scream erupted from below, following fierce gunshots that sounded clearly over the beginnings of rush hour. Peter took a deep breath before plunging downwards.


	6. wade: hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade hurries towards the sound of gunshots, just like Peter. A small fight breaks loose, and Peter almost "loses" Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to TheStrange_One - thank you so much for reading and for this suggestion, it really is a staple in every Spidypool fic ;). I hope we did it and you justice. Enjoy this chapter!!

The shock of screams, following the sound of fierce gunshots that rang clearly over the beginnings of rush hour startled Wade to his feet. 

[Now _this_ sounds fun]

Intrigued, Wade hurdled himself from one flat, city-style rooftop to another, following the horrible sounds. He saw a flash of red spandex swooping through the air and followed, a grin creeping over his face.

“Hey Spidey!” He called, jumping through the air towards Spiderman. Peter turned, slowing a little so Wade could catch up. And it didn’t take Wade long- soon they were swing-jumping in tandem, Wade mostly following Peter. He seemed as though he could sense where he was going. Spidey sense, if you will.

“How’s it hanging, Pete?” He said, loud enough to be heard over the wind and traffic.

“Not bad,” Peter replied, smiling under his mask.

{He’s adorable.}

[We can’t see under his mask, idiot!]

_No, White’s right. He’s adorable._

{Thank you for acknowledging.}

“I’ve been told,” Peter interrupted the voices, “That the, em, authors of this story are, according to-”

Wade tell Peter that everything MJ said was pretty much exactly true.

“MJ was perfectly right,” Wade said, his heart flipping at the cuteness that was confused Peter.

-Also *GASP* INSPIRATION there’s a churro stand down the street get over there after this. You will thank me.-

“Hey you wanna get churros after we see whats going on? There’s a stand down the street and I’ve heard… that it exists.”

“Is this you asking me out on a date?” Peter joked. As soon as he said it, they both blushed crimson. They also both pretended they hadn’t blushed.

“Nah, that would be a sad excuse for a first date, and besides, I was thinking that our first date would be more like movies, Boston-style popcorn, mediocrely fancy dinner, and watching the sunset.”

“Ah. Romantic, huh?” Peter said, slightly sarcastic. But also nervous and timid and sweet and longing. Wade didn’t hear that description, for the sake of his well-being.

_What description?!_

-See? He didn’t hear it.-

Wade did some incoherent grumbling inside his head, hoping to annoy the authors and make the readers feel bad for him.

Peter suddenly dropped, reaching the building where gunshots had rung from, only about a minute before. A lot can happen in a minute. 

And yet almost nothing at all can also occur- Two masked figures could be seen through the skylight of a very fancy bank. 

Cliché. I like it.

Both figures were holding guns pointed at the heads of a line of people against the wall, both sides looking more than slightly panicked. 

“You suppose they didn’t mean to shoot?” Wade asked, his voice low.

“Yeah, I bet they have some people in the back getting them their goods.”

“Average plan, I’d say. We shutting this thing down?”

“Yeah, I think so. Police might not be able to keep someone from getting shot. You knock out the robbers, I’ll get people to safety.”

Wade nodded. “Knocking out- my specialty.”

“No killing though, right?” Peter’s voice was a little sharp as he spoke.

“No, Sir,” Wade answered, giving Peter a mock salute. Peter gave a small smile. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

Wade crashed through the glass ceiling, aiming to land between the two masked figures. He made sure that the shower of glass didn’t come anywhere near the terrified civilians, who were being corralled by a confident looking Spiderman.

The two robbers immediately swiveled their guns to point at Wade, which was kind of idiodic, seen as they could have taken a hostage. But that will come later. They were terrified, and thus began shooting entourages of bullets toward Wade, who ducked and dodged like his life depended on it, which it really didn’t. He ripped two computer monitors off the front desk, hurling them into the masked people, one who ducked, and the other who was hit square in the face and went down with a “mnhg.” Screaming “I’ll avenge you, Jimmy!” loud enough for all of New York to hear, the other figure sprang into Wade, who very much was not expecting the impact.

{Jesus, these people are terrible at their job.}

Still, he was pretty much fine, rolling over to get the robber below him. Two resounding punches to the head, and he was down. At which point a massive door swung open, admitting a tall man who took in the scene in an instant- crushed glass, bloody tiles, two expensive monitors lying to the sides of very unconscious people wearing the same type of mask as the man himself.

Wade pulled out his gun, before remembering his promise to Peter. No killing. Wade sighed. The man, in this time, had leveled his own gun at Wade, making him mutter, “We need better gun laws.”

Damn, are we getting political in this fic.

Wade sighed again.

“How’s your day going, man?” Wade asked, his gun pointed at the man’s head, for appearances sake. The man looked surprised, even through his mask.

“Um, not great? My colleagues, friends, you know,” He gestured to the people on the floor, “Them- they’re kind of knocked out and we were kind of busted? You?”

Wade grinned a little.

“I met a guy that I like a lot. And I don’t think he hates me. I hope he doesn’t hate me,” he finished, more softly. “I have to take you to the police n-” A strong arm caught Wades neck from behind, squeezing his esophagus enough that he couldn’t breathe. Apparently there was a fourth person in on this robbery.

The person choking him (who was a woman), dragged Wade backwards, out into the sunlight. As she turned, pulling him with her, Wade saw the group of citizens behind approaching police cars, sirens blaring. The woman holding Wade pressed something to the side of his head- a gun. Of course.

“Collateral.” She spat in an accented voice, pressing the gun barrel more firmly to Wade’s temple. Spots started to dot his vision, and though he knew he couldn’t die, a small bubble of panic swelled inside him.

The blurry outline of Peter appeared before them, dropping out of the sky.

“Let him go,” Peter’s voice was low and fierce. Peter. Oh. Peter didn’t know he could heal, Peter probably thought he was about to die, Peter, Peter,

Voices were loud in his ears, but also quiet at the same time, somehow evading his sense of comprehension. Maybe there were sirens? Maybe…

The sound of a gunshot, followed by the feeling of one, jerked Wade back to consciousness. Because, unlike normal people, being shot in the head can seemingly bring Wade back to life. Instinctively, he reached up, pulling the woman over him, throwing her into the pavement. He swayed slightly as he stood up, steadied by a shocked, almost crying Peter. His mask was off. 

“Why are you crying?” Wade’s words were quiet, and slightly slurred.

“I thought you were going to miss our date.”


	7. peter: churros!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The police are not huge fans of Spiderman, but Wade sure is. Peter and Wade go out for churros.... all good times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I started Queer Eye a couple of days ago and it is my favourite thing to ever grace this earth EVER. I just finished the last season that's out and I am SO OBSESSED OKAY Jonathan Van Ness is my spirit person 4ever, and I love every single one of them so much and want them to have everythinggg every person should watch it it will make your life sixteen times better at least I promise. Okay, I'm done ranting now you can read. (I love Queer Eye) (You should watch it) (It's amazing)

“You’re under arrest.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Peter halfheartedly told the police who were surrounding him and Wade, their guns out and pointing at them. Peter had put his mask back on, and was supporting Wade, whose gunshot wound seemed to have healed _already_ , but was still bloody, dizzy, and a bit out of it. Peter had definitely not known his healing factor was _that_ good. He had been shot in the head and he was fine?? Can he even die?? (He can’t.)

One of the police all of the sudden had a look of dawning comprehension as her eyes flicked from Peter’s mask to the webbing holding down one of the unconscious robbers. She whispered to her companions, and they looked back at Peter. With his advanced hearing, (which is not that advanced, by the way) he could make out the words “Spiderman” and “trespassing” and “can we arrest him?” 

He decided not to stick around and find out whether they decided that _that_ was a good idea. Grabbing Wade by the waist, he webbed onto the nearest building, ignoring the shouts of the police behind him as they jogged after him, fully knowing that they could not catch him.

Once he was a while away, he set Wade down gently on a roof, being careful of his head, and collapsed next to him, breathing heavily.

“You okay?” Peter asked between breaths, refilling his web cartridges. Wade sat up, rubbing his head.

“Never thought I’d get to be swung through the city in Spiderman’s arms, so yeah, pretty awesome.”

Peter rolled his eyes under his mask, but he was smiling. “I thought you were dead there for a second.”

“Dying’s not really my thing,” Wade answered. “But damn, that still hurt.”

Peter held out a hand to Wade. “Churros?”

“Yes, please.”

 

Peter and Wade walked the rest of the way to the churro place because Peter didn’t want Wade to accidentally fall off of a building in his post-gunshot daze. _(“I would heal, you know.” “Yeah, but still.”)_ Before they went in, Peter put on his jacket and took his mask off, causing Wade to stop in his tracks.

“What?” Peter asked. “If they’re still looking, (which they probably aren’t to be honest) I don’t want them to recognize me… right? What’s wrong with you?”

Wade tried to form words, but it just came out as stuttering. Peter raised his eyebrows, smirking a little. “You okay there, Wade?”

“Um yes I am fine. You are fine. Wait no. Not fine like _fiiiine_ just fine like okay. Like, not okay, cool, beautiful, no I did not mean that I meant not beautiful, just an okay looking person. You exist. Okay. Yes. What.” Wade’s face was bright red. (Peter couldn’t see it… but he could definitely tell.)

He smiled, giving Wade a chance to recover. He tried to act calm and composed, but he was internally screaming. Was that, like, that? Did Wade think he was cute? Surely not. But maybe? But no. But maybe? (Good thing we decided to stop Wade from seeing Peter’s chapters, am I right?) “Shall we go in?” 

“Right. Yes,” Wade said, taking a deep breath and trying to pretend the last minute had not happened. He’s so cute. Peter tried to hide another smile.

The bell above the door jingled as they walked inside. Wade took a table for the two of them, and Peter went to the counter to order some churros and hot chocolate. These better be much better than the last ones he had. (The day he met Wade. How fitting.) He went back to the table after ordering, settling into a chair across from Wade. He couldn’t help but notice how Wade sat on the edge of his chair like he would be ready to spring up at any moment. His arms were folded in front of him like a little barrier against the rest of the world, and his eyes-- the only part of Wade’s face that Peter could see-- were darting around the room as if looking for something that might be dangerous.

“Hey, Wade.” Wade looked immediately back at Peter, his deep blue eyes soft. (They are so cute). “Stop stressing out, okay? This is literally just a restaurant. Just… calm down.”

“Sorry,” Wade mumbled.

Peter searched for a topic to bring up. “Do you have any friends? Family?”

“Nope,” Wade replied. Peter cursed himself in his head. Definitely wrong question. 

“I’m assuming you do, though? Right, isn’t your dad Tony Stark?”

Peter sighed in relief, glad that Wade wasn’t mad at him for being so inconsiderate. “It’s complicated. My parents died when I was like, two, and then I was raised by my uncle and aunt, but my uncle died early too, and my aunt was really sick, so somehow Tony found me and I started going to his house a lot while my aunt was in the hospital. When she died, he and Steve adopted me officially. So yeah now he and Steve are my dads.”

“Wow.”

“Yep.”

The churros came to the table, and Peter was happy for the distraction, munching on the amazing goodness. This was way too awkward. And Peter never ever wanted it to end. He played through everything he would tell his friends when he got home in his head. (“And he was all stupid and adorable when I took off my mask, and his eyes are beautiful, and we joked about going on a date, and I think he might actually like me…”)

Wade wasn’t eating his churro. “What’s wrong? Is it bad?” Peter asked, gesturing at the churro.  
“Oh, no! I just don’t really like eating in front of people,” Wade said, trying to sound nonchalant. Peter could tell he was upset.

“Did I do something?” He asked, confused.

Wade looked surprised. “Of course not! You’ve been awesome. It’s not you, it’s my problem.”

Peter frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” 

“It’s ‘cause you think I’m going to turn you in, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to keep your identity a secret?” Peter’s heart sank. Apparently, Wade didn’t like him that much after all. (As the author I feel obliged to tell you this is not true.)

“...Sorry.” Wade said, looking down. “I do trust you, it’s just…” he trailed off. Peter sighed. He was pretty sure he was right.

“Here.” He handed Wade a napkin. “Just pull up the bottom of your mask to eat it and hold that in front of your mouth. I won’t see your face.”

Wade took it gratefully, mumbling _sorry_ under his breath. Peter was unsettled that Wade didn’t seem to trust him, but decided not to take it personally. He probably never revealed his identity. Well, he had told Peter his name. But that was a lot already. _Eventually,_ Peter thought, _he’ll trust me._

They passed the rest of the evening chatting about light, fun stuff like tv shows and movies until it was time for Peter to go. He smiled to himself as he swung through the city on his way back home. Wade Wilson was adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Queer Eye is on Netflix) (I'm sorry I'm talking about it so much) (It is great)


	8. hydra: молиться.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation. A plan. And a man who has lost who he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p l o t ...

The room was dark enough that nothing could be seen, other than faint outlines and the suggestion of edges. No sound was to be heard unless you were listening enough to catch the sounds of breathing, and a soft and fading skitter on the tile floor-- rats.

The door omitted a squeal as it swung open. Everything here creaked. Every sound, here, seemed many times louder. An air of expectancy was thick in the room as a tall figure entered.

The sound of a chair scraping on tile made it clear that the man was sitting down. A light clicked on, giving the room an eerie glow. These men did not need light to see. It was all for show.

“It appears we have a new candidate.” Murmurs rose around the table, abruptly stopping as the man cleared his throat, placing a small disk on the table and clicking it, producing a rotating hologram. “He is young yet, so the tests may need to be altered for his undeveloped state. We don’t have the time to await the subject’s maturity. The time for us is now.”

Another deeper voice spoke, confident and demanding of attention. 

“We haven’t the time, but thanks to our current soldier, we are acquiring the materials. And the subject.”

“It is all happening now, gentlemen. This new subject already has extraordinary abilities, along with tolerance to match more than the current soldier has seen. The subject is broken, and we can make him believe it to be us who have fixed him.”

“We have the files from the original experiments, along with the remains of all tests. The real difficulty will be keeping the subject from lashing out, or breaking free of the serum and the code. He has been known to withhold his mind and kept his head in unthinkable situations. This may be nothing new to him.”

“It is something new to everybody, Captain. He will not break free-- our only current soldier is perfect because he had many of the so-called flaws you just mentioned.”

“Perfect? Can the soldier regrow himself from virtually nothing, unable to physically die? Does he have no known real identity, so if he were seen, he would never be recognized without his disguise? No, no. Your precious soldier has but a tenth of what we have in the realm of possibilities here.”

“He hasn’t a metal arm.”

“He has no need for one. He can regrow his own, and if it pleases you so we can tattoo him with a damn star, man!”

“We know nothing of his past, nothing of his identity, if he hides behind disguises--”

“ _You_ may not, but I, on the other hand, have plenty. I knew him well, once upon a time. I will ingrain the code into his head, and it will hit every point of his miserable life. He is perfect for this. Made for this, one might say.”

“Who is he?”

The man didn’t answer, except with a question of his own.

“How long will this take?”

A week or two, to ready the subject and build the machines. Another to carry out the procedure, Captain.”

“Good. We will prosper under this new treasure. As is our duty. Hail, Hydra,” the man hissed.

“Hail, Hydra!” echoed through the room.

__

_~Longing~  
_

His eyes darted around the room. His… room. Or at least reserved solely for him. The Winter Soldier. Because that was who he was, that was who he had always… always been…

No. He stared down at his one open, normal hand, wrist strapped firmly to the arm of his chair. His nails were rimmed and stained with dirt, creases in his skin darkened with dry blood.

No. This was not- not _him._ This was not _his_ chair, not his room. This was all theirs. And right now he was theirs too… No. He shook his head, struggling against his bonds. That’s what they were- bonds, restraints. A prison.

The Winter Soldier- No, no, that wasn’t right, he was… he… He wanted to scream, that’s what he knew, that he was rage. He wanted to rip apart every lever and screen and table in this room, his room…

Yes. It was his, it had always been. He was the Winter Soldier, and he had a mission soon, they took him here when there was a mission soon. He would complete it, because he was…

He was helpless here, he had no choice. And he was tired, so tired of the screeching rage that never managed to burst through his bubble, the foggy sides pushed into him by this chair. He had to get out, he had to… Had to…

The rough metal door swung forward, creaking.

No time to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Far From Home is so soon and I'm really exciteddd!! Also happy anniversary of Stonewall everyone!! Pride :)


	9. shuri: intense gay flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and MJ get closer to Shuri, MJ and Shuri especially hitting it off. Shuri is introduced to Wanda- she might be a little jealous. And school projects! Woo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is very much Shuri/Mj. We might have gotten a little carried away... I swear this is still a Spideypool fic.

Shuri walked into the small Science classroom, her bag swung across her shoulder. In Wakanda, her lab was giant, and, unlike this one, was full of weapons and inventions far beyond the comprehension of anyone but her. She sunk (elegantly) into the chair beside MJ, raising her eyebrows at the sketch MJ was working on. It was sort of a routine by now, one that Shuri looked forward to every day.

“Whatcha drawing?”

MJ shrugged, but there was a shy grin on her face.

“Can’t you tell?” She pushed the sketchbook over the table to Shuri. But she was nervous, Shuri could see. She looked down to the notebook.

The whole page was covered in graphite, not just one sketch. The faces blurred and blended, one line flawlessly leading into another. Connected. And for once it wasn’t just crisis. The faces of Ned, Peter, a faintly familiar girl, and Shuri stared back at her, a plethora of emotions jumping from the surface. The lines connected showed anger seeping into sadness and acceptance and courage. And joy, at the center, when they were all together.

“Whoa,” Shuri breathed.

MJ fidgeted.

“You really _see_ , don’t you. You’re the kind of person who doesn’t just look.”

MJ blushed.

Which made Shuri blush.

“Okay, okay, you two stop it.”  
Peter dropped his backpack to the floor, just as the bell rang for the start of class. All three of them quieted with the rest of the class as Ms. Morita cleared her throat, nodding at the silence.

“Class, as you know, the state science fair is approaching, and being a top running school, I am relying on the lot of you to keep our reputation afloat.” The whole room seemed to let out a sigh. Ms. Morita continued, though only about half of the class listened as she droned on through the first half of the period. 

By the end of her speech, people were in small groups, pouring over the guidelines and generally just being high schoolers.

“So, any ideas?” MJ tapped her pencil on the desk.

“I think we, as a general group, are way overqualified for this fair,” Shuri mused, smiling. “Neither of you have seen my workshop, but most anything in there would win easily. Not to brag.”

“Well,” grinned Peter, “I’m not so bad at mechanics and chemistry myself. And MJ has experience in the _most_ random things that you wouldn’t think helpful until you need them.” MJ tilted her head, considering. She shrugged.

“Pretty much.” 

Shuri leaned back, surveying the room.

“So what is going to wow these judges enough to win and fit the theme?”

“The theme of ‘Beneficial to the World at Large’, you mean?”

“Yep. Ideas, though?”

“Would building this be too much?” MJ held up her notebook. Shuri and Peter looked over it, exchanging wonder-filled glances.

“It’s perfect.”

“Hell yes.”

Shuri smiled so genuinely at MJ that she blushed behind her notebook.

 

The diagram was a rough sketch of a flying car. Yes, kind of cliché and sci-fi, but if it was even possible, the three of them could do it. The wheels were designed to fold upwards in order to push off of the ground- Peter remembered an old tape Tony had showed him, of Howard Stark’s failed flying car… Peter hoped Tony would be proud of him for doing this.

They still had some logistics to work out, both Peter and Shuri needing to get extra materials. They had sources.

“Okay,” Peter grinned, “So we’ve got a plan.” Shuri and Peter both looked to MJ, who referred to her notebook as she spoke.

“Peter, talk to your dad about designs that your grandfather tried. Shuri,” Shuri smiled as she said her name, “we need cheap materials, and a lot of them. I refine sketches and record our process for the fair presentation.”

“Yes. Do you want to come over to the tower to work on it maybe? I’d have to ask Tony and Steve, but-”

“Yes! Then we can talk over the original designs!”

MJ nodded too, thinking.

“Why did we choose a flying car again? This is gonna take a while.”

The three of them grinned (a rarity for MJ) as the bell rang for the end of class.

 

“Hey Peter, MJ, Ned,” Wanda waved as she strode over, as badass as ever. “Hey, Shuri!” She slid her lunch tray onto the table, into her usual seat. Shuri was a little confused at the girl knowing her name, but she smiled. As Wanda smiled back, Shuri recognized her as the fourth person in MJ’s drawing.

“Nice to meet you,” 

“You too! I’m Wanda. I’m friends with these idiots,” she said, glaring at them affectionately.

Shuri nodded, feeling a tiny pang of jealousy- Wanda was in MJ’s drawing too. But MJ just kept glancing at Shuri shyly, a faint blush spread over her cheeks. Shuri barely realized she was doing the same thing back.

Wanda, however, noticed, and couldn’t keep from smiling. MJ liked Shuri- Wanda knew that for certain, based on the barrages of texts and endless pining. But now she also knew that Shuri liked her back.

Anyways, Peter pulled out his phone (because this school allows that for plot), starting to text Tony.

 _hey would it be ok if mj and shuri came over_  
school project  
After a moment, he added,  
_i think we might need ur help_  
Tony texted back in a second.  
_Sure Pete._  
You mean Shuri? Wakanda Shuri?  
This made Peter smile.  
_wakanda shuri._

Peter waited a minute, looking at all his friends- laughing, together. The first thing that came to his mind was Wade. But his phone buzzed before it became a cohesive train of thought.

_I don’t know if you’ll need my help then Pete. She’s just about the best there is._

 

“Hey dad?” Peter called, dropping his backpack beside the door as MJ and Shuri followed him into one of the rooms of the tower. The top two floors were reserved for the Avengers to live in, so you could never really know whether any given room would be empty. Thankfully, this room had noone to distract them from their project. Tony had probably cleared it out for them. Peter mentally reminded himself to thank him.

“Mr. Stark is in his lab. Shall I alert him to your presence?” JARVIS asked.

“That would be great, thanks,” Peter answered, turning to Shuri and MJ. Shuri looked slightly impressed.

“AI?” 

Peter nodded after a moment.

“Tony named it JARVIS.”

“Yes, I suppose I would expect Tony Stark to have tech like that in his home. A _bit_ impressive,” she teased.

MJ had already taken a seat on the floor, her backpack open beside her and her journal out, along with an array of differently coloured pencils. MJ hung out in Stark Tower all the time. She often called it her second home. She was smiling to herself as she sketched, and Peter could tell she thought Shuri was being adorable. 

Shuri plopped down near MJ, trying to see what she was drawing. MJ giggled as she playfully kept moving the drawing from Shuri’s sight. Peter had definitely never heard MJ giggle before. She was very far in love, that much was evident.

Wanda poked her head through the door. “Hey,” she said, coming in and sitting on the back of the couch. “Ned and I are gonna go get ice cream. I was gonna invite you guys, but it looks like you’re busy.”

“Science project,” Peter answered. Wanda smiled and mouthed to him so that MJ and Shuri couldn’t see. _More like intense gay flirting._ Peter suppressed a laugh.

Wanda waved and left, probably off to laugh with Ned about how helplessly in love MJ is. Peter turned back to the two of them. MJ had resumed her sketch, and Shuri was looking out the door.

“Are Wanda and Ned together?” She asked curiously. (Peter could tell it wasn’t curiosity.) (She was jealous of Wanda.) 

MJ snorted, looking up from her drawing. “Ned’s about as interested in a romantic relationship as I am in drawing with a blunt pencil, and Wanda’s as straight as a slinky.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “She’s trying to tell you that Ned’s aro and Wanda’s gay,” Peter paused before pointedly adding, “and all of us are single.” Shuri perked up at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any of you seen the Spiderman/Audi commercial? ;)
> 
> Also happy Far From Home!! Who liked it? Who hated it? We want to know!


	10. peter & wade: WHERE'S RACHEL?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade invites Peter on a datttte!!! Sort of. Okay not really. (But also, really.) It's an unofficial, adorable, perfect (almost) night and I just want them to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a great show. Also, this is a long chapter (and I know incredibly little of DC or living in New York or like anything) so be warned. yay fun

“Hey, Pete, can I come in?” Tony said, knocking lightly on the door.

“Sure,” Peter answered. Tony opened the door quietly, carrying a tray of snacks, which he set down on the table. There was a chorus of thanks from the three teens. MJ helped herself to a pile of chips, which she put on the ground beside her as she continued to draw. 

Tony looked around. “Hey MJ, hey Peter, and I’m assuming you’re Shuri?” He held out his hand and Shuri shook it. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” Shuri said politely. 

“You too! I’m glad to see Peter hanging out with really nice kids. But I should leave you guys to your project.” Tony turned to go. “You need anything, just tell JARVIS,” he told them. “I’ll be in the lab.” Peter nodded at him and he closed the door behind him as he left.

“Your dad seems nice,” Shuri told Peter, taking a chip from MJ. “And he’s brilliant. I’ve seen his tech.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” he reached to pick up his phone, which had buzzed from the table. It was a text from Wade.

Wanna hang around 8? You don’t do patrol on Fridays right  
We could watch a movie or something

“Yes,” Peter breathed to himself excitedly.

“What is it?” Shuri asked curiously.

“It’s Wade, isn’t it?” MJ said from the floor, not looking up.

Shuri looked between them, trying to follow. “Who’s Wade?” 

Peter honestly didn’t care if Shuri knew about Wade. He trusted her and also he didn’t really care because he was too excited because had Wade just asked him out on a date because that was basically what this was right?? How should he respond? Was ‘yes’ too little of an answer? Should he act casual? Or should he treat it like it’s a big deal? When he snapped out of his thoughts, MJ was telling Shuri about Wade.

“...But don’t tell anyone,” she finished. “His parents hate Wade Wilson and if they knew they were ‘hanging out’ they would probably be angry.” Shuri nodded seriously.

“I won’t tell anyone-- not that I have anyone to tell-- but that’s so cute! So that was Wade? What did he say?” 

Peter was still basically going insane. It was like that one time that he drank like a gallon of coffee to see what it did for his spidey-sense. (It wasn’t good.) (He got grounded, for one.) (And Clint still hasn’t let it go.)

MJ finally closed her sketchbook, looking up at them. “Wade invited you to hang out outside of following you around patrol, didn’t he?”

Peter grinned widely. “Yessss,” he said happily, but then his face shifted to stressed out. “But what am I supposed to say?? I have no idea.” He threw the phone at MJ, who caught it deftly as she stood up, sinking into the middle of the couch cross-legged with it in her hands. She patted the couch on both sides of her. 

“Come on, sit. This is a group effort,” MJ said. Peter jumped into the couch next to her, but the adrenaline only let him stay there for a couple of seconds before he got up again and started pacing. Shuri sat gracefully down, holding her arms around her legs. She had the distinct air of someone who was incredibly uncomfortable sitting so near their crush. Peter would probably find it incredibly funny if he wasn’t so busy being freaked out about _his_ crush.

“What do I say?” He asked, accidentally pacing up a wall. (This happens more than Peter cares to admit.)

“Alright, so,” MJ and Shuri said at the same time, and then looked at each other and laughed.

“You go first,” MJ said, beaming. Damn. Beaming. That is new. 

“Never mind. I forgot,” Shuri said. “You go.” Had she seriously forgotten what she was gonna say. She’s definitely in love too. Off-topic, the important thing is W A D E.

MJ shrugged. “I dunno maybe just be like ‘Cool! Sounds fun! Where should we meet?’ or something?”

Shuri frowned thoughtfully. “I like that, but maybe replace ‘Cool! Sounds fun!’ with ‘that sounds awesome!’? It’s more excited seeming, you know? Like ‘I wanna hang out with you’ kinda thing? I dunno.”

“No, I love it! Peter, I’m gonna send it k?”

“Yep,” Peter said from the other side of the room. “Sounds gooood.” (He was completely freaking out for the record.)

“You know it’s been like 45 minutes and we haven’t actually started,” MJ said, munching on more chips.

“Right. Let’s do that.”

Wade watched, a little nervously, as Peter swung towards him, smiling as he approached. They had seen each other often since the first bank robbery, but not to do anything but fight.

Tonight, though, they had a date.

{Sort of.}

-Took you both long enough.-

[Just don’t mess it up.]

You got this, Wade.

“Do I?”

You kind of got this, Wade.

Wade nodded. These authors knew what they were doing.

Peter landed beside him softly, a gleam in his eyes. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans, much like Wade, except Wade wore his mask. Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

-...Good start.-

“So, um. Where are we going?” Peter seemed like he was constantly blushing. Maybe it was just the light of the sunset, though.

“I was just thinking a drive-in movie?”

Peter gave a small, genuine smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

Peter grinned when he saw the beat-up red Subaru, parked beside the building they were just atop. 

“Do I need the tarp this time?”

Wade shrugged playfully, before looking at the ground.

“Depends. You going to bleed out all over my precious car, Pete?”

Peter seemed to brighten as Wade said his name.

“Hopefully not this time.”

Wade slammed the door beside him, turning the keys in the ignition.

“I haven’t been to a drive-in movie for a _long_ time. Not really since my Aunt May. She used to take me all the time.”

“Probably not the best that I’m the first one taking you since then, huh?”

“No, actually, I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather go with.”

Wade blushed scarlet. Usually, he’d come back with a witty remark, but he couldn’t seem to string together a sentence.

[Idiot. Get your shit together!]

“Not now, Yellow,” Wade muttered, hoping Peter hadn’t heard.

Peter had.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Um, you know those voices I told you about?”

Peter nodded, remembering.

“You said there were two. And two more- authors, right?”

“Right. The two voices are White and Yellow. White is considerably nicer-”

[Hey!]

Peter grinned a little.

“Did Yellow just talk to you?”

Wade blinked, surprised. “Yeah, actually. How could you tell?”

“You got a look on your face. Like you’re focusing on something,”

Wade glanced at Peter, whose eyes darted away.

“Hi, White. Hi Yellow,” Peter smiled. “Hi, authors.”

{Hello Peter!}

[He can’t hear you. You know that right?]

“White says hello. And Yellow is being an idiot. As always.”

[Shut up.]

“There are two authors, right? Isn’t that a bit, um, unusual?”

-This entire fic is unusual.- 

After a while, you get used to it.

Wade grinned.

“They aren’t denying the unusual.”

Wade pulled into a gas station at the side of the road, with a grin at Peter.

“Come on.”

Peter followed him inside.

“Hi, we’d like all of your candy.”

The man behind the counter blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Peter’s face was lit up entirely in a grin.

“Yes, you heard me right,” Wade repeated, more slowly. “All your candy.”

“Y-you robbin’ me?” The clerk eyed Wade’s mask.

Wade tilted is head, considering.

They left the store with two trash bags full of candy, laughing.

The readers will never know whether they really robbed the store.

Talking to Peter was easy. A little awkward, maybe, sometimes, but easy. They could keep up with each other. By the time the sun had gone down, they were pulling into a parking place, a little way from the few other cars, still chatting happily.

“You know I never actually asked what movie we were seeing.” Peter leaned back comfortably in his seat.

“Batman, The Dark Knight,” Wade continued.

The fourth wall has been _shattered_ as it’s meant to be.

-You’re welcome, readers! We do love a good ~telling everyone DC is trash.~-

‘Cause it is.

-I really liked Shazam.-

You only liked Shazam because of Billy Batson, not because it was a good movie.

-It was a good movie!!!-

How bout Wonder Woman. _That_ was a good movie. 

-WONDER WOMANNNN-

Indeed.

_GUYS SHUT UP._

{I’ve lost complete faith in our future.}

It was dark enough now that Wade lifted his mask off his mouth so he could eat, and Peter couldn’t see. I mean, he assumed, because Wade took the candy, but he didn’t prod or question.

And the movie began.

Both of them were only partially paying attention to the movie, sneaking glances at each other while generally inhaling the candy. 

The movie was loud. Like, loud enough that the screams that followed the Joker’s presence shook the car underneath them, probably, we don’t know we haven’t seen it, (do people scream in it? possibly) (possibly Batman screams) (WHERE’S RACHELLLLL) (literally that’s all I know) startling both Peter and Wade. But what almost shook him more was Peter slipping his hand into Wade’s, squeezing it. The movie wasn’t so loud anymore. Wade looked over at Peter, who gave him a small, hesitant smile.

Wade squeezed Peter’s hand back.

When Wade pulled up near Stark Tower, Peter finally let go of Wade’s hand.

“Thanks,” he traced the outline of Wade’s face with his eyes, “for… that.”

Wade smiled.

“Yeah. D’you like the movie?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention to the movie, to be honest.”

Both of them blushed.

“Anyways,” Peter continued softly, “see you tomorrow on patrol?”

Wade nodded, feeling abuzz and alight. 

“See you tomorrow.”

He stared after Peter as he shut the car door and disappeared into the tower. Before the grand doors closed, though, he turned to Wade and smiled.

Wade collapsed back into the seat.

He’d done it.

They’d held hands.

Peter had laughed.

And it was adorable.

Peter was adorable.

He’d done it.

Wade stared at his doorstep, exhausted but still buzzing from adrenaline and still-calming nerves. His sort-of doorstep. (It’s a shitty doorstep) A small, folded piece of paper was taped to the doorknob.

He picked it up gently, unfolding it with a bad feeling. 

Wade’s stomach sank. He could feel a certain emotion he didn’t experience very often coming to the surface. He tried to push it down, but it rose like vomit in his throat. His hands shook slightly as he stared at the little piece of paper. 

The note in itself was worrying, but not altogether uncommon in a job like his. No, the thing that made him stop in his tracks, the thing that made him crumple the paper and throw it under the seat of his car, trying to distance himself from it, that….

Wade Wilson recognized that handwriting.

And he was scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we got to 50 kudos and i'm happy about it


	11. superfamily: saturdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT  
> TONY, STEVE, PETER AND ALSO JARVIS MAKE CHIMICHANGAS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this happened.

CHAPTER ELEVEN. PETER.  
Peter grinned as he walked into the kitchen to see Steve tying Tony’s apron.

“So we’re actually doing this, then?” Peter shook his head. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Just because we never cook doesn’t mean we can’t, Pete.”

“Sure it doesn’t, Dad. Okay, JARVIS, what’s the best recipe for chimichangas that the internet has to offer?”

On Saturdays, Peter had the whole morning to hang out with Tony and Steve. It was one of his favourite parts of the week. They found new, fun things to do every week, no matter how busy Tony was with work. It had first started when Tony could barely ever find time to hang out with Peter because of all of the stuff he had to handle as CEO and everything, but even now that Pepper was CEO and Tony spent time with Peter every day, it was a tradition with the three of them.

“I recommend this five-star recipe from a restaurant in Arizona. It is said to be easy even for the most… _inexpert_ cooks,” JARVIS said as he projected a recipe on the wall.

“Okay, JARVIS, that’s a bit rude.”

“I exist to state fact,” JARVIS replied, unfazed. (Not that he can be ‘fazed’. He is a robot.) “All three of you are relatively terrible at cooking.”

“We can do this,” Steve declared, brandishing a large spoon and accidentally knocking over the tea kettle.

Tony raised his eyebrows slightly but turned to the recipe. “Okay. First, we have to cook beef over medium heat until no longer pink in a large skillet? This is unhelpful. I’m the great Tony Stark, once proclaimed Merchant of Death, and I do not know how to properly prepare a dead cow. JARVIS, do we have a large skillet?”

“Under the stove, sir.” 

Steve, who was closer, opened up the cabinet under the stove, looking at the array of pans there. “Oh, a skillet is a pan? I thought it was the thing you can plug in? That you make pancakes on?”

“What you’re talking about is a griddle, but pancakes can be made a variety of ways, sir.”

Steve shook his head hopelessly. “Well, at least I know how to make eggs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” He took out a large skillet, looking around the kitchen. “Does it go on the oven, JARVIS?”

“Correct, sir.”

Peter stuck his head in the fridge. “Do we have ground beef?”

“Of course, sith lord, I ordered it this morning. It is located in the bottom left drawer.”

(Peter had been young when he told JARVIS to call him that, okay? And if you had an AI in your house wouldn’t you make it call you sith lord, or the dark lord, or Moriarty, or Thanos? WoUlDn’t YoU?? (You would, you totally would.))

He rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. “This is it?”

“Indeed.”

Peter set the large package down on the counter.

“I recommend you salt and pepper the meat,” JARVIS told Peter as he unfolded the paper. That, at least, Peter was pretty sure he knew how to do.

“Got it. Okay, what do we have to do next?”

“Turn on the stove to medium.”

Tony squinted at the stove and turned one of the dials to medium. “Is that right?”

“Perfect, sir, and I might add that you should probably get glasses. You’re relatively nearsighted, which isn’t good for a job like yours.”

“Shut up, JARVIS. Now what?”

“Now, take a bottle of canola oil and pour a small amount into the skillet,” JARVIS continued. 

“How much is that?” Tony asked, frowning.

“A small amount.”

“How MUCH?”

“A little bit.”

“You’re useless, JARVIS, you know that?” Tony shook his head and poured a little of the oil into the pan.

Peter peered over his shoulder. “That looks right. I think. Now, do we get to put the beef in?”

“Once the oil starts to glisten,” JARVIS said. He’s a very important character in this chapter. (Because Tony, Steve and Peter don’t know shit.) (Neither do I.) (JARVIS is the internet.) (Literally.)

The oil started to look sort of glisten-y, so Peter picked up the big hunk of meat and put it in the pan. He jumped back when it sizzled, his arms coming up instinctively like he could defend himself from the jumping oil. Burners are the spawn of satan.

-She apparently feels strongly about this-

I’VE BEEN SCARRED OKAY

-Wait remember the time you caught the towel on fire?-

SCARRED.

-We’re not even supposed to break the fourth wall in Peter chapters I suppose I will slink back into the depths of the internet to research chimichangas goodbye.-

Peter just continued to cook. (He can’t tell we’re here.) 

“Now, with a wooden spoon, stir the meat every thirty seconds until no longer pink. I would also recommend that the two of you who are not currently engaged work ahead in the recipe so you will be prepared. One of you should cut the onion by chopping it in slices vertically and then horizontally with a chef’s knife, to create finely chopped pieces. You should end up with about a half a cup of it. The other should gather a can of refried beans, a can of tomato sauce, chili powder, garlic, and cumin. Those will all be in the pantry. Also, find measuring cups and spoons in the far left drawer.”

The three of them scrambled to complete their tasks.

“Well, this is fun,” Steve said. “Cooking dinner with the family. You might be in danger of becoming a responsible kid yet, Peter!”

“He really isn’t,” Tony replied, swearing loudly when he inevitably cut his finger, tears welling in his eyes only partially from the onion fumes.

-That is mean.-

Yeah well. Today was rough.

-God hasn’t he been through enough?? Of all people? Take your anger out on the patriarchy.-

Sorry sorry fine.

“He really isn’t,” Tony replied, leaning away from the onions as he carefully cut them, paying attention so as not to cut himself. He was actually doing a really good job for practically his first time properly cooking. 

Simultaneously the entire patriarchy died.

It’s an equal world now. (In the story.) (Not in real life.) (Most definitely NOT in real life.)

I had a lot of anger.

-We all do.-

“JARVIS the beef definitely isn’t pink I don’t think?” Peter called, (even though he totally didn’t need to call because JARVIS is an AI whatever I’m tired.)

“You are correct, sith lord. With the projected amounts, measure out the beans, onion, tomato sauce, chili powder, garlic, and cumin, and stir them into the pan with the meat.”

“Thanks, Jar-Jar.” (That was, in all fairness, a Star Wars joke waiting to happen.)

“Now, while Peter stirs, Mr. Stark and Mr. Rogers should prepare the tortillas. Start by heating them in a pan.”

Tony went back to the cabinet under the stove and took out a pan, trying not to get in the way of Peter, and then put it on the stove. He turned it to medium and placed a tortilla in, waiting for it to be slightly warmed before he handed it to Steve and started the next one.

“Am I doing it right, JARVIS?” Tony asked. (He was pretty proud of himself for figuring it out himself.) 

“It is unclear, sir. However, I believe you are completing the task correctly,” JARVIS responded.

Steve took the stack of warm tortillas, laying them out on the counter. Who needs plates anyways? Tony grinned at him, finding nothing wrong with the absence of plates. Less dishes. He grabbed a tortilla, rolling it up and eating half in one bite.

When Steve pretend-glowered at him, he stuffed the rest of the tortilla into Steve’s mouth, making him laugh.

“Hey!” Peter glanced at them, a little too preoccupied to do anything else. “A little help here?”

The meat was hissing and sputtering, and Peter was a little frantically stirring it in hopes it would shush. All he managed to do, however, was launch some over the side of his pan and onto the floor. It was enough to be stress inducing.

He took the pan off the heat. Too much stress. Also, it was done.

“What next?”

“Two of you will fold the tortillas with these directions,” JARVIS said, projecting them on the wall. “And the other will begin the sauce.”

“Alright,” Tony said, “I think Steve should have to make the sauce cause he has strong arms and yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but a grin spread over his face.

“Peter, Mr. Stark, spoon ⅓ cup of the beef off center onto each tortilla.”

Tony held the pan and watched as Peter carefully measured exactly ⅓ cup of the beef mixture onto each tortilla in front of him, biting his tongue in concentration. 

“What next, JARVIS?”

“Next, fold the edge nearest the filling up and over to cover. Fold in both sides and roll up. Fasten with toothpicks-”

“Wait hold up what?”

“I think he means this,” Tony stepped back. The tortilla was barely holding together, a bit mangled and warped. It was definitely not what JARVIS had said.

“That is not what I mean, sir.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Tony looked dejectedly at his mess of a chimichanga.

Steve leaned over and looked at it.

“Well it’s the inside that matters,” he said, leaning down to kiss his husband. “I should know,” he joked, his eyes not leaving Tony’s.

Peter sighed loudly. 

As Peter and Tony went through the instructions again and again, Steve bent down to get another pan from the cabinet, this time a large saucepan.

“Mr. Rogers, combine the chilies, peppers, and remaining tomato sauce into the pan, and turn on the stove.”

Steve obliged, watching Tony and Peter lovingly.

“You might want to stir the sauce, sir,” JARVIS reminded him.

Steve looked back at the sauce and stirred it quickly. It was looking pretty good.

“Alright, dad, I’ve got it,” Peter said. “Spoon about ⅓ of the mixture off-center on the tortilla, like this, and then fold the side with the sauce closest to it over the sauce to cover it, like _this_ , and then fold in these sides and roll it up. And then just stick toothpicks in it so it stays.”

Peter ended with actually a pretty good shaped chimichanga. I’m impressed. The two of them, now that they finally understood it, were able to make the rest as Steve stirred the sauce.

“For the next step, you will need an electric skillet. You can find one in the cabinet on the far right of the door,” JARVIS informed them. Tony nodded, having taken over stirring the sauce, (which was now on very low heat) and then pushed Steve in the direction of the cabinet. (Steve is tall. Tony’s… not.) Steve retrieved the electric skillet, looking at it confusedly. 

“This looks incredibly modern,” Steve said sadly. Steve has never been very good at modern things.

“Plug it in,” JARVIS explained.

Steve found the edge of the long cord and got it into the power outlet on his first (third) try. 

“Turn the little dial to 375 degrees.”

Steve complied. 

“Now pour in one inch of oil. That means up to about an inch of the pan.” JARVIS is actually surprisingly good at helping Steve. He’s always loved, Steve.

(I know robots aren’t supposed to have emotions, but ever since Steve came into Tony’s life, Tony’s life which was frankly, terrible, and for some reason no one had been helping him, and told him that no, he _wasn’t_ alone, and yeah, he could get help apart from drinking and trying to forget… point is if someone is good for Tony then yep, JARVIS likes ‘em too.)

-I _love_ JARVIS now and also that was a totally unnecessary piece of backstory, but it’s 10:47, I have no life and I’ve been researching chimichangas for the last two hours.-

“Now wait a minute before you begin frying the chimichangas.”

Peter giggled, and so did Tony and Steve before all three burst out laughing. “It’s just… JARVIS, I never thought I’d get to hear you say ‘chimichanga’,” Peter breathlessly said.

JARVIS was unamused. 

“Set up a couple of large plates with paper towels to place your… _food_ once it is finished. I’d also recommend you shred about a cup of cheddar cheese.”

Peter quickly set up the plate and paper towels beside the skillet as Tony went to the fridge for the cheese. (And then found the cheese grater all by himself!) He began shredding the cheese straight into a measuring cup. (Why not.) The sauce was doing fine on its own. 

“Alright, Mr. Rogers, it is time to begin frying the food. Place each… piece into the skillet for about a minute and a half on each side, or until they look properly browned. Then place them on the paper towel so they can drain.”

The last part of the cooking actually went relatively easily. Once the chimichangas were ready, Peter put them on plates with the sauce and sprinkled them with cheese while Tony and Steve set the table for just the three of them. 

Peter put away a fourth chimichanga in a little plastic container and sneaked it to his room before he went to the table.

Peter, Tony, and Steve had an incredible lunch, full of laughter and smiles and little “we did it!”s… they would definitely try cooking again. 

Long, chimichanga-filled story short, Tony and Steve and Peter all love each other _so goddamn much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE'S THE RECIPE I FOLLOWED I REALLY TRULY CANNOT COOK  
> https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/beef-chimichangas/


	12. wade: the note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade needs a therapist and also to talk to Peter, and the Winter Soldier returns at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay plot woooo

Wade paced. 

It didn’t help.

But maybe it would.

So he paced.

The voices in his head were silent for a moment, for once, but he barely noticed. His own voice was scraping his skull and everything was too loud, and too present, and he was too much _there. It_ was too much there.

That stupid fuckng piece of paper.

He had crumpled it and thrown it in his car, but the words themselves were neither crumpled nor gone from his mind. They were stuck there. 

Etched.

But it wasn’t even the words that made him freeze in terror, no, it was the way the letters were scrawled across the paper, in that script that used to note every little _disgusting operation and horrifying change_... 

And his breath was too fast, his mind too panicked to separate the fear of the note from the fear of the world crashing down around him in his mind, memories too thick to see through, to fight through, because there he was alone and-

Wade. 

-Take a deep breath, Wade.-

He obeyed, only because some part of his conscious screamed for it.

Wade. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

“Stop,” he croaked, his voice breaking. “Stop lying.”

I am not lying and never will. Authors aren’t liars, just withholders of information. 

-It _is_ going to be okay in the end. Better than okay. We want you to be happy, you know.-

Wade collapsed into a chair, feeling too weak to keep standing. They wanted him to be happy. He kept that thought in his brain. 

She’s not lying. Authors don’t lie.

“Okay.”

He took a deep breath.

[Why are you doing this?]

And the voices were back.

{The note stuff}

“Wait, let me guess,” he interrupted weakly, “plot?”

-You’re not wrong.-

Just not entirely right.

“That was vague. Real vague.”

[hmph.]

I’m just going to tell you that there’s more than you think.

-And remember that we write killer cliffhangers.-

Like fall off the cliff, killer?

-...-

Somehow, this odd interaction calmed him a little. 

{It really fucking shouldn’t}

“You know, authors, that note was damn terrifying.” Wade was breathing more normally now, and he pulled off his mask.

-Don’t tease it too much Wade, we haven’t actually written it into the fic yet.-

Yep no we have ~plot~ to write first. You doing any better?

Wade nodded a little, about to get up to get water.

-I got it.-

A glass of ice water appeared on the table in front of him.

“Thanks.”

[Are we telling Peter about this?]

“What? No! We barely know him, and this isn’t any of his business! Plus telling him would mean talking about everything else and and-”

[Yeah that’s what I thought.]

Wade! Breathe.

-Wade you care about Peter.-

And he cares about you.

-You’d have to be blind not to see that.-

You should tell him. Or at least consider it. Please?

Wade bit his lip. 

 

~ _Rusted_ ~

He clenched his jaw, trying to keep from yelling, from spitting or throwing up. He would do all of them right now, but he knew he would be punished. He had no choices here. The thin, balding man who entered the room didn’t even look him in the eyes, instead pushing the Winter Soldier back into the chair, that chair- that chair was the reason…

He yanked at his restraints, at the cuffs around his hands and feet, but he couldn’t pull free, not even with his metal arm. They had made sure it was strong, but not strong enough to defy Them. The man who entered had flicked some switches, typed into some screens, before softly sliding a red leatherbound book towards him, opening it deliberately enough to show him the silver star embossed into the front cover. It was just like his arm. 

He hated both.

“Желание.” The man walked slowly around the Winter Soldier, as though examining him as he struggled, his jaw clenched in pain.

“Семнадцать.” He couldn’t hold himself like this, it made him lose-

“Ржавый.” The man was enjoying himself now, enjoying the power he had over the soldier, enjoyed the screams that had escaped from the soldier’s throat.

“Рассвет.” The Winter Soldier knew what he was becoming, what he was going to be again, and he hated it. He could not describe the agony or the resentment, he could barely live through it.  
“Печь.” At least-

“Девять.” He convulsed, his hands gripping the chair’s arms tight enough that they began to splinter and the metal to crumple like foil.

“Добросердечный.” But he couldn’t break free of the voice that cut through everything else, that cleaved

“Возвращение на родину.” his mind from his body that

“Один.” seemed to split the atoms of his soul, one 

“Товарный вагон.” by

one.

A sharp, stinging clarity shot through him.

At least like this he was strong. At least like this he had power of some sort. At least he was not useless.

“Good evening, soldier,” The man murmured, tilting his chin almost thoughtfully.

The Winter Soldier’s voice was scratchy and low now. Emotionless. 

“Ready to comply.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of short so sorry about that I'm not doing great today writing-wise.


	13. shuri & peter: lab work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, MJ, and Shuri work on their science project (yes seriously, and it's adorable) because BONDING and PLOT AT SOME POINT. 
> 
> And then MJ and Peter have a heart to heart about l o v e because I want them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> It would make me happy to make you happy.

Okoye regarded Peter and MJ with utmost suspicion as they and Shuri approached the towering mansion, all chatting happily. MJ and Peter looked in wonder at her home.

“Hello, Okoye!” Shuri smiled into Okoye’s frowning face, “This is Peter and MJ, Peter and MJ, this is Okoye. She came here from Wakanda with me as my guard and friend.” 

Peter opened his mouth to greet her, but was cut off.

“Shuri, why did you not alert me of their accompanying you?! I could have- You know what I think when I see people following you, yes? I’m sworn to protect you,” she hissed, “but I cannot do much if you are not protecting yourself.”

“Okoye, I texted you. They’re friends from school, I told you about them. We have to work on our science fair project.”

“Text,” Okoye scoffed. “What primitive technology. You know-”

Shuri raised her eyebrows.

“Okoye. I’m sorry I didn’t make sure you knew they were coming over, and I’m sorry for scaring you, but we do have to work on this project.”

Okoye sighed, looking each MJ and Peter in the eyes. Both looked back, Peter confused, MJ with perfect knowledgeable indifference. Neither were scared.

Okoye gave a single nod, and a slight bow to Peter and MJ before turning and walking away.

“She doesn’t like us, does she,” Peter muttered.

“Actually, I think she rather does.” Shuri smiled and led them inside.

 

The intricate, impossible architecture was cut through with scatterings of brightly colored pop art. High skylit ceilings made both Peter and MJ gasp- it looked as if you could touch the clouds above. And seen as Shuri had an invisible ship parked somewhere on her roof, you probably could- if you could find it, that is. The whole place was chiefly black and white, featuring geometric designs brought out by playing of light and edges of shadow.

Shuri grinned at the stunned expressions on her friend’s faces.

“Oh, just you two wait.”

 

The stairs were stopped at least five times by various security measures- voice ID, retina scan, the pinky-print of Shuri’s left hand.

“This place has to stay secure- literally for the safety of the world. If any of my prototype weapons got to the wrong people, I don’t know if anything could put it right.”

“Was that why Okoye didn’t want us here?” 

“No, not entirely. Right?” MJ looked to Shuri. “She just cares about you. She thought of that way before thinking of these prototype weapons.”

Shuri gave a little smile.

“She’s like my sister.”

 

When they finally reached the bottom, a set of glass doors opened into a glorious workspace. It was almost immaculate, though that didn’t make it seem less welcoming. Small alcoves branched off of the main space. Each was outfitted with particular tools or functions. 

Smooth white walls with glass panels made the space feel like a bubble- not to mention that the entire place was underwater. Through the windows was glassy blue, as far as you could see.

The whole place was alive and buzzing with small robots that seemed to be made of dust. As Shuri entered, a dozen screens of light appeared in the air.

In the center of the space, their bare design of a flying car was ready to be worked on.

“Welcome,” Shuri spread her arms, “to my lab.”

 

MJ leaned in through the glass-less car windows and addressed Shuri, who looked up from where she was insetting the muffler and attaching the exhaust pipe.

“So I have like fourteen possible colour schemes and Parker can’t decide.”

MJ held out her notebook.

Shuri laughed as she took it, scanning the pages.

“They’re all beautiful,” She admitted, her fingers brushing the careful lines. “I am, however, partial to the black and gold. I think it’d be stunning.”

Shuri looked at her. She seemed far away, looking too intently at Shuri. It made Shuri blush crimson.

“MJ?”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. I’m glad you like the black and gold. That was the one I was hoping you’d like.” She said it shyly, then promptly held up the notebook to the skeleton of the car. They’d done far more than they expected in the past week, a rough frame already kind of car-shaped.

MJ sighed, and looked directly into Shuri’s eyes.

“This is going to take a while, isn’t it.”

Shuri laughed.

 

They continued to work.

“Hey, Peter, you have the turbine almost done?” Shuri didn’t look up from her worktable as she spoke.

“Yep. MJ, I just need the-”

“First semi-core reactor? Right here.”

Together they screwed and soldered the pieces to each other, following the floating diagrams before them, drawn in light. It was painstakingly slow and precise work. Slowly, the metal and wires and coils and screws became wheels- wheels that could turn downward and hopefully launch the car into the sky.

Hopefully.

“Wow.” MJ stood back to look over their work.

“Ms. Morita is going to be _floored_ when she sees this. And probably a bit annoyed.”

Shuri raised her eyebrows. “Did she, em, _disagree_ with our choice of projects?” She sounded amused when she spoke.

“Yeah, she kind of pulled me aside to talk to me about switching projects… I’m not positive she believes us capable.”

“Well then I suppose we will have to change her mind,” MJ responded dryly, her lips twitching in a smirk. “I can’t wait to see her face.”

When Peter’s phone buzzed, he was surprised to find that it was nearly midnight, and Tony had texted him about four times. He hurried to answer.

 

The door closed on a beaming and waving Shuri, who, after giving them her number, had promptly invited them, Ned, and Wanda for a Girl’s Night. Peter and MJ turned toward the mansion’s curved driveway, tired but both grinning from ear to ear.

Happy glared at them from the front seat of the sleek black car, refusing to let Peter sit in front with him. He pulled up the divider. Peter figured he was grumpy from having to get him so late.

“So.” Peter leaned back in the leather seat, turning to MJ. “You and Shuri, huh?”

As soon as her name left his mouth MJ blushed, but she still glared halfheartedly at him. Then she gave up.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if she actually likes me or if I’m imagining everything she does because I want her to! I want her to so badly. And I don’t want to mess anything up because I really, really-”

Peter was chuckling softly, making MJ look incredulously at him.

“What?!”

“She feels exactly the same way.”

MJ’s face burned and she gaped. She closed her mouth resolutely, and Peter didn’t push her, because he could see so much raw hope in her eyes.

“Well what about you and Wade?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to blush.

“What do you mean, me and-”

MJ raised her eyebrows. “You’ve seen him almost every day for the past two weeks-”

“Yes, but-”

“-and gone out three times-”

“And I-”

“-and you are so hopelessly pining for him that I don’t know how he hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Is it really hopeless?” Peter’s voice was small.

MJ sighed. “No. It’s not hopeless at all.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Nothing is happening between us.”

“But you want something to be.”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD QuEER EYE SEASON FOUR ITS SO SOON
> 
> also i saw someone at the store who was a mustache away from being jvn and i DIED


	14. wade: 's wonderous katana hunt :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade goes on a hunt for his missing katana (he lost them in chapter four i think. its been awhile.). He may or may not find them... i'm not telling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii so we missed last friday's post. 
> 
> We were both super busy that week and we are SO sorry we missed it.
> 
> Anyways. Thank you, if you are following this silly fic.
> 
> And sorry again.

Wade’s first question was _why?_ He stood on the edge of an office building, looking at the city skyline, as per the author’s request.

So he asked his question.

“So why exactly am I here?”

Noone answered for a moment. Then,

[Did you look at the title, dumbass?]

Wade’s face lit up in a beaming grin.

“I knew they would get them back to us.”

-Well, I mean, it’s still up to you.-

Yeah you might never see them again if you don’t go soon.

Wade raised his eyebrows.

“You just gave me a hint.”

What n- oh yeah I did. Well, use it, at least.

“I plan on it,” He responded confidently. “But, ah, more hints would help too.”

 

Wade paced, thinking. The authors had told him a bit- mostly obscure words or phrases.

He knew his katana were moving- ‘if you don’t go soon’. But moving where? And why? He could only assume it was Mark’s doing, though he knew nothing about Mark himself… other than his apartment.

Wade was off and running.

 

This time, he knocked on the beat-up wooden door. And rang the doorbell. He waited a few seconds until he had lost his patience, and then he kicked the door off its hinges.

{You know he might have gotten a new place}

Except for the fact that there was a crate in the corner of the charred, linoleum-tiled kitchen, housing a whining meerkat.

{Yeah no nevermind}

The place was well cleaned up, considering everything, and Wade crept through, surprised. But he found nothing at all of use, least of all his katana.

“Well this seems like a dead end.”

-It’s not. It’s definitely not.-

Wade sank down into the violently orange couch.

{You know, meerkats have an excellent sense of smell.}

Wade blinked.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

 

Wade found a jar of treats and fashioned a leash from a thin rope. It took a minute for the meerkat to warm up to him, but when she did, he was able to hook the leash on with no trouble whatsoever.

This was _definitely_ not what I was thinking.

-By now I’d think you’d have learned not to put anything past Wade.-

Wade gave the meerkat one more treat.

“Take me to Mark!” he yelled heroically.

The meerkat stared at him as though she had one eyebrow raised. She also didn’t move.

“To Mark!” He yelled again. He had most certainly woken the neighbors. The meerkat answered in a string of chattering.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak meerkat,” Wade said sadly.

-I do!-

Sorry _what?_

-It was an elective.-

You’ve been waiting fourteen chapters to make that reference haven’t you.

-Yep!-

“Can you tell her to find Mark?” Wade interrupted, though he was smiling.

-In theory, yes.-

“Well I guess it’s time to test that theory!”

The meerkat was staring at him still.

Suddenly, the disembodied sound of another meerkat chattering filled the kitchen.

The leashed meerkat sat bolt upright in alarm, and then chattered back a small amount. She promptly left, through the open door frame, pulling Wade with her.

[God help this fanfiction.]

Amen.

People who live in New York City are used to some pretty weird shit. 

So a leashed meerkat running down the street pulling a man in a red spandex suit really wasn’t a big deal.

The meerkat did not slow down, chasing some invisible scent of her owner.

A couple minutes later, the meerkat slowed down in front of a very busy street, crouching on its hind legs. Wade looked around. 

Uh, authors?

-Shoot. She’s gonna jump.-

“JUMP WHERE?”

-Onto that bright orange truck.-

“AND WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE I DO ABOUT IT?”

It looked a bit to everyone else like Wade was yelling at a meerkat. Again, not that uncommon of an occurrence. Trust me, people in New York are too busy for anyone else’s bullshit. 

{Perhaps we should get back to the matter at hand?}

Oh, yeah. That.

[Well?!]

I don’t know! I’ve never jumped onto a moving vehicle before!

{Oh, so you _do_ want us to jump, then??!}

“Shush. I got nothing to lose, aside from those katana,”

Wade and the meerkat leapt from the sidewalk, even surprising a select few New Yorkers. They crashed onto the top of the truck as it turned, heading out of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unfinished, I know. Sorry about that, too. I'm tired. 
> 
> This has been a _week._


	15. wade: (with a meerkat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade jumps into his adventure (literally), following his partner-in-crime, Mark's meerkat. But in this epic adventure to retrieve Wade's precious katana, plenty of things go wrong. And the authors never promised him his katana back...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I am so, so sorry. Again. We missed last Friday's post, and now I'm going to make excuses for it: During the past two weeks, both of us have been traveling to see family, so posting wasn't really a top priority. Because of that, we missed the last two Fridays. 
> 
> We are going to get better at this. 
> 
> Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this chapter and keep enjoying this fic, we will be better at posting in the future. Pinky promise.

“That actually went a bit better than I expected,” Wade remarked, his voice unable to be heard over the sharp wind whistling past his ears. The meerkat was tugging on the leash towards the front of the truck, but Wade tugged back, dragging them both to a latched emergency hatch on the roof of the truck.

“This would be a good time to use my katana,” Wade mused, sighing, before just drawing a pistol and shooting off the latch, hoping the sound couldn’t be easily heard.

The door swung open easily enough, and Wade dropped the scrambling meerkat inside after checking that no one was there.

A little light came in from a small window that led to the driver’s seat, along with a little light from the open hatch above them. Wade peered out of the little window to see Mark, wearing AirPods (wHAt?) And his prized katana beside him.

Wade shook his head in disgust and disappointment in Mark. They hadn’t been properly cleaned. He reached once again for his gun, aiming it at the window.

Hey. Nope. That’s not happening, sorry.

“What?”

-You are not about to shoot that. Author’s orders.-

“And why should I take your orders?” He demanded, waving his pistol around as he talked.

The authors didn’t answer.

So he shot the pistol.

A bunch of things happened in quick succession.

The first thing that happened was the bullet ricocheting off the glass, bouncing cartoon-style around the truck before shooting straight back into the barrel of the gun, jamming it.

The second was the meerkat wailing at the crack of the pistol, making Wade wince. It was the kind of sound that would be permitted and understandable if an insane purple grape had traveled the galaxy and you had followed in an attempt to save the world from his golden clutches but failed, so a wizard sacrificed himself for you and the one outcome where you win but you had to watch the flaking ash of your son surround you as he told you he wasn’t feeling so good.

Oh, wait. Sorry, that’s called Infinity War.

But anyways, that kind of anguish.

Which was so ear splittingly loud that several glass cases in the truck shattered, and Wade watched as the meerkat’s eyes grew wide and she clambered _up the walls_. Meerkats can climb trees, apparently, but a perfectly smooth vertical metal wall isn’t quite the same.

You should be impressed by this meerkat.

Somehow, the back doors swung open and torrents of glass spilled from the truck as it lurched on, and Wade found he had to carefully cling to a small handle to avoid falling out.

So.

“I should probably be following your orders, huh.”

-Yes. Please. It makes the job so much easier.-

“For me or for you?” He teased, already over all of it.

The small glass window was completely unharmed, and Mark hadn’t heard a thing. It was thanks to the AirPods. And because we don’t want him to.

“You really want me to wait this out, huh?”

Yep.

“That’s all you’re gonna give me?”

-Yep.-

Wade huffed sat down below the window, crossing his arms.

“No fair,” he muttered quietly. The meerkat dropped from the ceiling down into Wade’s lap, curling up in a ball of fluff. She jumped once only as the back doors slammed shut, most conceivably by wind.

Wade pet the meerkat.

 

Wade was awoken abruptly when the truck lurched to a stop, sending both him and the meerkat sprawling.

A door opened and slammed, and when Wade peered through the little window, Mark was gone. His katana were gone too.

Wade squinted, taking his pistol up again. This time, he bashed it against the glass, but it just bounced off with a _chink_. He stared off into the air, where, if this was a movie, there would be a camera.

“This isn’t gonna break, is it?”

No. No, it’s not.

Wade sighed and shook his head. “Writers. The lazy ones do anything for plot.”

-Hey!!-

Sure, we’ve missed some uploads and left you here for days at a time in this sweaty, claustrophobic metal box, but _lazy_? That’s just rude.

“You know what, you just justified my point. Oh, well. Can I at least kill Mark now?”

-Not yet, Wade.-

I’ll let you seriously injure him!

-Okay, that is not the kind of sentence you use an exclamation point at the end of. Plus, no seriously injuring my social studies teacher.-

*Sigh* Yeah, I know. But he is a _terrible teacher_.

-He is _not!!!_ He’s great and he’s a good guy. He just gets sidetracked. Case in point.-

Wade could hear voices outside of the walls of the truck, and he could hear snippets of words, like, _soldier_ and _few more_ and, at the end, _hail Hydra_.

That sounded familiar.

But before he could think on it, the meerkat was dancing around, struggling to get out of the truck because _Mark_. Meerkats have good hearing too.

She scrambled to the doors as they started to creak, and Wade crept towards them, careful to stay in the shadows where when the door opened, he was invisible. The authors wanted him here for a reason… No ruckuses today. Wade sighed.

At the last moment, Wade snatched up the flailing meerkat, dragging her into the corner with him.

The door banged open, and sudden golden sunlight streamed into the truck. Wade saw the mess that had been made, in the light, and grinned.

The glass was everywhere on the ground, but only in a fine dust. Almost everything else was gone, having spilled out of the doors on the highway, aside from a few cloth bags and a single, broken, gun.

“The _fuck?!!??_ ” A high voice screeched. But before they could continue, Wade launched at them, thrusting his knee into their stomach and then his foot into their head as they buckled from the impact.

Then he pet the meerkat to calm her, peering out into the sun. He was in a busy lot, loud enough to have disguised the sound of the person he had just rendered unconscious. No one else was near the truck.

Grabbing a cloth sack, Wade made a thin cut in one side and pulled it over his head, the cut allowing him to see out.

He looked extremely suspicious.

Nonetheless, he ventured out of the truck, the meerkat in tow. And no one spared him a second glance. Actually, it was more like Wade was being towed by the meerkat, who was sniffing like her life depended on it. 

She led him through the lot, weaving between fancy looking trucks and haulers, all unloading fancy looking machinery.

[Why have we been basically written out of this chapter]

{We’re so under appreciated.} 

_Shut up guys I’m trying to focus._

The meerkat squealed and tugged against the rope that was still tethering her to Wade. The two of them watched as Mark descended down a staircase and into what seemed to be a high-tech hill. Wade crept behind them until he got a good view.

Mark punched a series of numbers into a tiny, almost invisible keypad, and was admitted inside. Wade slipped in before the door would close.

{Hey, if only you were spiderman and could climb the ceiling}

Wade suddenly wished Peter were there.

Underground was a maze, the walls dingy and dripping with some liquid. Wade tailed Mark and a short, balding man for a while- a turn right, then left, then left again- until they reached a small doorway. Wade slipped inside. 

Before him sat the creepiest group of tall, villian-horror-movie-esque figures he had ever seen huddled around a comically small table with a single bare light bulb hanging above them. The tallest one in the blackest trenchcoat (clearly the leader) opened his mouth to speak, but Wade was entirely fed up and at this point bored.

Also, Mark had his katana in hand, so like. No better time than now.

“Meerkat, I choose you!! USE DISTRACTION!!” he sung, flinging the meerkat into the air. She landed on one of the blades of the ceiling fan (this place has no AC), screeching deathly notes into the musty air.

 _Distraction_ was highly effective.

As soon as he saw her, Mark sprang up, eyes wide in shock and fear.

“Pelebemy!!” he screamed, launching himself at the spinning creature.

As he jumped, Mark dropped Wade’s katana, which he scooped from the floor, grinning wildly.

“Good to be home,” He said, watching the surprise register in each of the group member’s faces. “You see, these fancy butterknives are pret-ty much a part of me,” he explained, as though they were all dumb. “Why don’t I take a part of you? So you can see how it feels?”

He knew he was going over the top. He mentally shrugged.

They all either shook their heads or just stared.

So he physically shrugged.

“Well, just don’t take anything of mine ever again, kay?”

He waltzed out of the meeting room, turning the corners he had turned a few minutes ago.

He only paused for a moment, when he turned to see a man staring into his eyes. There was something not entirely human in them, and they made him shudder, almost as much as the glinting metal arm he wore and the emotion that was in his face.

It was none. Like, there was no emotion. I mean- you know what I mean.

It was scary.

For the second time in the last few Wade chapters, he was unsettled.

No, Wade was scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for reading, <3.
> 
> And goodbye, I'm going to sleep.


	16. the winter soldier: несмотря на.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men at the lab discuss the appearance of the future Subject. Well... discuss isn't quite the correct word...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really craving hot chocolate right now.
> 
> Mmm hot chocolate.

The men who herded the idiot out with his vile creature kept their hands on their guns, though they pushed him away with just their glaring eyes.

“Who,” the tallest, darkest man asked, “was the person who checked his goods?” It was a command, of course, making a small figure scurry hurriedly out.

When he turned back to the table, his eyes were narrowed in a very dangerous accusation.

“We had the subject, the new Soldier, here in our midst, and the lot of you gaped at him, your life before your work in your filthy minds,” he spat, making those less practiced at discretion cringe with fear.

“Are. You. Not. Trained?! ARMED?! FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS??!” he shrieked at the guards, who, to their credit, didn’t even bat an eye.

“Bring me the soldier,” He commanded with a growl, and, realizing he had been standing up, he sank back into his chair.

“Of course,” someone murmured, leaving the room with a barely concealed sigh of relief.

 

The room was more silent than usual- even the rats seemed to be aware of the shift, for they were silent too. The Winter Soldier knew they were gone.

“Soldier,” The man in charge began, gesturing him closer. All the others stared on with a mixture of prideful malice and fear. 

“At your command,” The Soldier replied.

“Did you see the subject, Soldier?”

“Yes.”

The man’s brow creased.

“Did you apprehend the subject, Soldier?”

 

“No.”

The man cuffed him hard across the face, sending drops of blood flying and the Soldier’s head to the side.

The soldier rightened himself.

All he did was blink.

“Why did you let him go, _Soldier_?”

He was silent.

“ _WHY?_ ”

“I had no orders to.”

The man grabbed his collar and hit him square in the jaw. 

The soldier did not flinch. He just stared forward with his blank expression and blank eyes. He wound up to strike again, but paused as a voice echoed in the small room.

“Enough.”

The man sputtered.

“No one here-!” 

“Enough.” The figure was clad in a fine suit, though he was tall enough that the hanging light fixture didn’t cast a glow on his face.

“Sir. Forgive me.” The man released the Soldier.

“We want him in working order, no?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Why, again, did you bring my soldier here? For a demonstration? For a release of pent up aggression, perhaps? You see, that is what a punching bag is for- a real one, not my greatest experimental success.”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” The figure repeated. “Because you wouldn’t want to cross me, for the sake of your life. Work before life, though, if I heard you correctly before?” He turned, and continued. 

“You have a job to do, Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier held his cold gaze with a colder one, and walked away.

He had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you today?
> 
> If you aren't doing well, go get yourself some hot chocolate and curl up with a good tv show. Relax. I hope you feel better.


	17. peter: luci & chloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade hang out at Central Park after patrol and it's just fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Have some hugs.

Peter landed softly beside Wade, almost completely exhausted. They had stopped a full fledged robbery, guns and backup and all, turned a wanted woman over to the police, and returned a stolen bicycle. 

All in all, a good day. Somehow, they had ended up in Central Park and Wade had his eyes set on the nearest hot dog vendor.

“I’m so hungryyyy,” Wade groaned as he dragged Peter to the cart. “Can we get hot dogs before you go home? Pleeeaaseee?”

Peter sighed theatrically. “If you really want, I suppoooosseee.”

Wade squealed and bounded into the short line. 

“Salut, monsieur. I’d like to order…” Wade dragged out the word in a terrible French accent as he looked at the sign. “Two hot dogs with ketchup and pickle relish and a pretzel, S'il vous plaît.” 

Peter stared at him. Wade was, inarguably, incredibly odd. 

“Sure thing, man.” The vendor didn’t seem to think him all that odd. He just wanted business.

Wade was practically drooling by the time the man handed the hot dogs over, yelling out behind him,

“Gracias! Adios!”

Together, Wade and Peter wandered through Central Park, chatting companionably.

“I really want a bright pink bomber jacket.” Wade said suddenly, stopping as though lost in thought.

Inarguably, incredibly odd.

“Me too,” Peter agreed. As far as odd went, Peter was definitely also on the high end of the scale. (Wanting a pink bomber jacket really isn’t that odd though. I want a pink bomber jacket. Don’t you want a pink bomber jacket? Doesn’t everyone want a pink bomber jacket?? This isn’t a very good example of oddness.)

(I’ve been informed it wasn’t wanting a pink bomber jacket that was odd it was stopping randomly and seeming lost in thought about a pink bomber jacket. That’s fair.)

Peter felt like he should make a list of Things Wade Has Said That Are Inarguably Odd. For example, this conversation:

_“Okay so you know how the acronym for north, south, east, and the other one is ‘never eat sour watermelon?”_

_“Um.”_

_“Yeah, well here’s the thing- sour watermelon isn’t at all bad! So I was thinking they should change it to be ‘never eat bad watermelon’ but that doesn’t work because it isn’t the Bouth Pole, right?”_

_“...right.”_

_“So I landed on ‘never eat shitty watermelon’, excuse my french, I’m on a diet.”_

_“Sorry?”_

_“Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, rest assured.”_

You see? This is why Peter needs a list.

“Let’s go over to the water and see if there are any ducks out,” Peter suggested, pointing to a pathway that ran along the water.

“I LOVE DUCKS,” Wade squealed. He ran up to the railing, looking into the water at a little collection of tiny yellow ducklings swimming with their mother. “Little adorable fluff balls of happiness!”

Peter watched Wade watch the ducks, glad that he couldn’t see his uncontrollable smile. Wade was just super adorable, okay?? He was so absorbed in how cute it was that he almost didn’t realize Wade was calling him over. 

“I named them all,” he said, pointing. “That’s Luci, that’s Maze, that’s Chloe, that’s Amenadiel and that’s Linda.”

“You watch Lucifer?”

“Of course I watch Lucifer. You watch Lucifer?”

“Of course I watch Lucifer!”

They both giggled. 

“We should watch it together some time,” Wade said. Peter’s heart nearly skipped a beat. “Only if you want to,” Wade added quickly, and Peter could not think of a world in which he didn’t want to.

“That would be super fun,” Peter said, staring at the ducks so he didn’t have to look at Wade. He regretted taking off the mask. His entire face was red, but at least Wade might blame it on the cold. 

For a moment, Peter tried to think sensibly. Wade killed people for a living, Peter shouldn’t be… crushing on him, befriending him, even, he should be scared of him! Wade could kill Peter easily if he wasn’t cautious.

And yet, he wasn’t worried at all. On the contrary, he felt safer standing beside the mercenary than anywhere else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye.


	18. peter: GIRL'S NIGHTTT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a (kind of) relaxing night in with Shuri, Wanda, Ned, and MJ- just your typical Girl's Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter is a whole lot of fluff and cuteness and girl talk (yes including Ned and Peter, because this is my story and I can okay. girl talk isnt always just for girls), because it's a GIRLS NIGHT IN WOOO!

Wanda was grinning like a maniac as Shuri opened the door to her and Peter. 

“Hi Shuri, MJ,” she bounced a little as she stepped inside, greeting the two of them.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Shuri gestured Wanda in, Peter following behind carrying his phone in one hand and a duffel bag in the other, a smile across his face.

MJ sat, perched on the edge of the kitchen island, already in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts. They were all already in pajamas, actually.

“Parker,” she acknowledged, somewhat warmly, “and Wanda. Where’s Ned? I thought he was coming with you two.”

“Nah, he texted to say he’d be a little late,” Wanda replied, scooting onto a barstool that faced the others.

“Wait so,” Peter dropped his bag, “what exactly are we going to do? I don’t really know what a girl’s night involves.”

Wanda spun in her chair, biting her lip in an effort to stop smiling.

“It’s your first girl’s night, Parker, we’re doing everything,” MJ smirked at confused Peter. She hadn’t answered his question.

“Yes, we are indeed,” Shuri responded, not even trying to keep a bright smile from her face as she looked at MJ.

Which did make both Wanda Peter smirk as MJ beamed back.

They were so flipping adorable it wasn’t even funny.

 

Eventually, Ned arrived, bringing with him three pizzas and multiple bags of breadsticks.

The five of them sat in a loose circle in the middle of Shuri’s living room floor, bundled in fuzzy blankets and pillows. And absentmindedly devouring all three pizzas.

“So…” Wanda began, and Peter realized they were all staring at him. It was time.

“So, what?”

“So you and Wade?” MJ’s mouth twitched as Peter squirmed under their gazes.

“Dude, I still can’t believe you two are a thing.” Ned smirked as Peter turned bright red.

“W-we’re not! I’m not- it’s not! We aren’t a _thing_. It isn’t _like that_!”

Shuri shook her head in mock pity. “Oh, you are so sweet and clueless, aren’t you, Peter? You like him, he very much likes you, why don’t you make a move?”

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered defensively under his breath, his eyes narrowed at her and MJ.

Wanda brought a pillow up to her mouth to hide a smile.

“Fine,” MJ continued, pretending Peter hadn’t said anything, though she was blushing a little. “Why don’t you tell us ‘ _what it’s like_ ’?”

Peter looked down at his lap. “Yeah, okay.” He felt like he was buzzing, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting. “Um, w-well,”

Wanda sighed. “You are really, really bad at girl talk, Peter.”

Peter stuck his tongue out at her. “We went out yesterday?” he began, though it sounded almost like a question, and he was blushing wAy too much- Wade would have thought Peter was being adorable.

“Where?” Ned’s eyes were sparkling with laughter. Proud, _my little brother is so cute and in love and pure_ kind of laughter.

“We went to Central Park after patrol,” Peter was smiling a little as he recounted it, and though he didn’t notice it, everyone else did.

Their little brother was so cute and in love and pure.

“...And he walked me back to the tower afterwards. And he said we could watch Lucifer together sometime-”

He paused, looking around at the circle of grinning faces.

“‘ _It’s not like that,_ , huh, Pete?”

Peter just looked down at his lap and bit his lip.

“No. I really don’t think it is.”

Shuri tilted her head and looked at him, all of their smiles fading a little. “You’ve been on patrol with him almost every day for the past what, three weeks?”

“And gone out aside from that six times,” MJ supplied, gently. Shuri looked over at her, and her gaze softened.

“And they were _dates_ , Peter. I mean, come on. Drive in movies? Hot dogs at Central Park?”

“He _held your hand_ , Pete.”

Peter smiled a little, staring down at his hand. That night was so vivid in his memory, the colors almost hurt.

But then his brow creased again, and his hand closed into a fist, though this time Wade’s hand didn’t fit inside it.

“But- he… he still hasn’t taken off his mask. What if- what if he doesn’t want me to know anything else about him? What if he doesn’t trust me enough, or-”

“Peter.”

“He’s never _eaten_ in front of me with his mask off-”

“ _Peter_.” Shuri squinted. “You need some hot chocolate.”

 

Shuri presented them each with a full mug of hot chocolate, lathered in whipped cream and each topped with two maraschino cherries.

When Peter took a sip, it tasted like chocolate cherry too- his eyes widened and he stopped for a moment voicing all his worries about Wade.

“What _is_ this?”

“It’s pure magic, right? Almond extract. It’s almost like fairy dust, it’s so wonderful. Got the recipe from a friend.” 

Because I can, Shuri looked into the empty space beside her, where there would have been a camera had this been a movie, and winked.

“Okay but Wade.”

Peter sighed, sipping some hot chocolate. “Wade. Yes. There is a very complicated problem with an equally complicated answer.”

The other four waited for him to continue.

“You see, he murders people. For a living.”

After a moment, Wanda answered. “Peter, that is something you, me, and Shuri have all dealt with-” Peter opened his mouth, but Wanda continued. “-but it’s different for all of us and god-fucking-dammit we are teenagers. And we have killed people, and we have failed to save others along the way. But- I know it’s a lot different with Wade. And you- you need to talk to him about it.”

Peter was quiet.

“She’s right, you know.” Shuri put down her mug. “You like him, but you are so very terrified by everything about him, about how you feel about him-don’t try to interrupt me, I know what it’s like,” I don’t think I really need to write it anymore but both MJ and Shuri blush and don’t look at each other and it’s real cute. “You gotta find a way around that, okay? You gotta talk to him.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, I gotta talk to him.”

The others took that as a cue, and so the five of them proceeded to all paint each other’s nails and do each other’s hair and have a lightsaber/sword fight and build a nest of pillows and watch Titanic, during which all of them fell asleep, curled up in a corner of the pillow nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So- the hot chocolate? No, we haven't tried it yet :p
> 
> Don't worry though! We are having our own girl's night in (WOOO!) really soon, and we are pre-tty much going to do everything Peter and the gang (eesh why did I just say that) did here.
> 
> This hot chocolate better live up, Strange One. ;)


	19. peter: shitshow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today was pretty dang terrible, and Peter decides he'll see if it's about to get much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the vaguest, most cryptic summary I have ever written.

Peter pulled on his mask, webbing his backpack into a cocoon on the alley wall before springing upwards and into the city.

It was liberating, today, to leave school and the idiots inside it far away. So Peter climbed higher, leaving them and the world behind.

The school day hadn’t been all bad. It had just been one of those _days_ , you know? Where every little thing that could go wrong did, and everything was stacking up into a pile so high that by the end of the day it falling on you would almost be the painful cherry-on-top. 

It had started with Sharon. When Peter had gotten back to the tower from the girl’s night yesterday, he had been 1: exhausted, 2: basically flippin loopy, and 3: over literally everything. So, when he saw Sharon in the front entrance, with her stupid nonchalance and backstory with _his dad_ , the first thing that came to Peter’s mind to say was, 

“Holy freeze dried crumpets from hell, what did I do to deserve this, Lucifer?”

Which, let me say, ah, might not be the nicest thing to hear someone say about you- and Sharon had definitely heard him. 

Anyways, Peter was really very out of it by that point, and didn’t quite realise any of this until he had showered and slept until six PM.

He didn’t even hate Sharon, really. She was a perfectly fine person. But she was _also_ Steve’s ex, and whenever she stays over, because for some reason she still visits from time to time, it’s always _so damn awkward_ for everyone involved. (Especially Peter.) He usually made plans to stay out of the house while she was over, but he hadn’t known she was coming and he had to sit through dinner with her and his dads. 

Otherwise known as torture. It awaits people at the gates of hell. 

Peter swung up onto the roof of an office building labeled “DELUXE”, closing his eyes as he did so. It was easier not to look and just let his instincts take over. 

At least dinner had been good (ribsssss mmmmmmm) and Peter was able to excuse himself with a somewhat interpretable mutter of, “Yeah like homework and stuff. Due tomorrow. So like. I should go.”

And then he proceeded to not sleep for the rest of the night, although he was still exhausted and drained both emotionally and physically. It felt like a relief when the sun peeked through the windows.

And thus began the real shitshow.

When Flash Thompson hit him square in the jaw and pinned him against his locker, Peter began to realize it.

“What are you doing?” he had choked out, but Flash hadn’t answered, he just kept hitting him and Peter couldn’t do anything, he couldn’t do anything because if he fought back they’d know he wasn’t just Peter Parker.

It hurt. Obviously.

He didn’t tell anyone, and everyone who saw had just turned away. Flash bullying Peter wasn’t exactly uncommon. At lunch, Shuri and Ned and MJ and Wanda had seen his face and they got mad, but Peter didn’t let them do anything. MJ helped him ice his face, though, bringing him to the office and firmly excusing anyone who asked what had happened. That was the best part of his day. His friends.

After that, it was little things. He forgot his homework in math. He accidentally caused an explosion in science, he hadn’t been paying attention. And he got sent to the office.

The principal called home because he had gone to the office twice in one day, and Steve had been so, so, worried and Peter didn’t know how to explain so he just left.

Then Flash hit MJ. 

Nothing there ended well. (For Flash.) And MJ got suspended. Not Flash, though. Even though he started it. (He is pretty beaten up so he’ll probably miss school anyway. But still.)

When the final bell rang, Peter had almost cried with relief. And now he was here.

Peter swung all the way to a dock of ferries, and silently slipped inside, climbing to the very highest place he could find. Another thing that had been stressing him out: He really needed to confront Wade. He didn’t want to lose him, but he also knew if he was murdering people they really couldn’t be friends. Or anything else. 

And today was a shitshow. It couldn’t really be ruined any more than it already was.

Peter jumped off the ferry before it left the docs, pulling out his phone. He barely hesitated before sending the text.

_Meet me outside delmars its important_

His phone buzzed, and he took a deep breath.

_I will be right there_


	20. wade: backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade tells Peter all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, THIS CHAPTER EXISTS. it makes me cry okay dont judge me

Peter frowned as he dropped from the sky onto the pavement in front of where Wade was sitting, running his hand through his hair anxiously. (Adorably.) “Wade. Why do you kill people? I mean, why would you _ever_ ,” he stopped, seeming to run out of words.

Wade laughed. “For money, Spidey.” 

“Do you not feel guilty at all? Don’t you ever think about their families?”

Wade’s smile flickered, just barely. Not enough for Peter to notice. But enough to hide years of pain. “I don’t tend to think about it much.”

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t-- Just… I don’t understand. We can’t hang out anymore. I can’t let this go. It was really nice getting to know you, but...” He turned around and slowly started to walk away. The “goodbye”, though unsaid, was hanging thickly in the air. The “forever”.

Wade put his head in his hands, panicking. _What do I do? Am I supposed to let him go?_

Tell him.

_Seriously?_

-All of it.-

{Yeah, tell him our fucked up backstory. This’ll surely go over well.}

_White’s right. It would just scare him off._

It won’t.

-We promise.-

[We don’t have any other choice...]

_Welp I am definitely going to regret this._

“I didn’t have a family.” Wade whispered. 

Peter stopped, turning around. “What?”

Wade took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, his voice getting stronger. “I didn’t have a family.” Peter stayed where he was, listening. Wade assumed that meant he should continue. He tried to keep the emotion from his voice as he spoke, but he couldn’t. Years of suppressed anger and sadness seeped into his voice as he talked.

“My dad drank. A lot. And one day my mom had had enough, so… she up and left me there. With him. I was _twelve_ years old, and she just decided to leave me. He didn’t like that. So he kicked me out. And for a few years, I was... fine. I kept going to school. I forged paperwork. I lived in abandoned buildings and alleyways. I stole clothes and food and supplies. I made a friend, Vanessa. She was the only one I confided in, and she helped me out. But then high school came. And I didn’t have a parent to sign me up, I was barely getting by as it was. So I dropped out. I had barely been scraping by in middle school, anyways. It’s hard to study when you’re trying to survive.” Peter had silently sat down on the bench across from Wade while he talked. 

_Are you sure I should tell him this?_

-It’s the only way he’ll trust you, Wade. The truth hurts but it’s _important.-_

_Okay._

“I kept stealing stuff to survive, and now that was all I could worry about. But then I got _very_ sick. And I don’t mean coughing and sneezing sick. I mean I couldn’t walk, I could barely breathe, I was always exhausted, and I certainly couldn’t steal enough to survive. I was dying. I resorted to begging on the streets. It was the only thing I could do.” Peter was staring at him unblinkingly. He was holding his arms around his knees, so the only part of his face Wade could see were his eyes.

“One day a man came up to me and told me he could save me. And I should have known right then and there, and I should have run, but it’s not like I had any other choice. If there was a possibility of saving myself, I was going to take it. So I let him take me. He put me in a truck and we drove for hours. Away from Canada, all the way to someplace who-knows-where. It was this giant facility.” Peter’s eyes were wide. They looked fearful.

_This is going to scare him off. He’s going to hate me even more._

No he isn’t, Wade. None of this is your fault. He’ll just think you’re strong for surviving. Because you are.

_Well I didn’t exactly handle it well, did I?_

-Trust us, Wade. For once.-

“Okay. Okay.” Wade took a stuttering breath. “He tortured me. It was supposed to… like. Give me my powers, or whatever. But he _tortured_ me.” His voice cracked. “And it’s not really… ever out of my head. I don’t know, god, I don’t know, I’ve just… never really been the same.” He stopped talking. This was the first time he had told someone about it in… Well, ever. He was trembling as he stared at the ground, too scared to look up to Peter’s undoubtedly disgusted face.

Peter stood up suddenly. “Oh my god.” he whispered, his voice shaking noticeably.

Wade turned away. _See? I told you, I fucking told you that he’d freak out, and you didn’t listen, Jesus Christ, and now I’ll never see him again…_

There were tears in his eyes, he was _fucking crying,_ because he was _weak_ , and an _idiot_ , and he just ruined his chance be with someone he loved because he listened to stupid voices in his head.

Before he could even register what was happening there were arms around him, hugging him tightly, and there was a warm head buried in his shoulder.

“Oh my god…” Peter murmured, and he was crying too. “I’m so sorry, Wade, I’m so sorry.”

Wade was confused. “You’re not… angry?”

Peter pulled back. “At who? At the guy who tortured you? Of course I’m angry, I’m furious, I-” But he was cut off when Wade pulled him back into the hug, tears flowing down his face-- but these ones were of happiness. _He’s not angry._ Wade smiled brighter than he had in years, his face tearstained. 

He melted into Peter’s arms, grateful for the warm reassurance. Peter had heard, and he was still here. That had to mean something. (That had to mean everything.)

He just wanted to sit here forever in Peter’s arms, but he knew he owed him the rest of the story.

Wade pulled Peter onto the bench beside him, scooching back a foot so they could talk. He didn’t let go of Peter’s hand. 

__

I’m cold, okay?

__

Ooh, defensive, are we?

Peter looked incredibly hesitant. “Will you tell me what happened… after that? If you can? You don’t have to, we can do this later, whatever you want, I mean--” Wade cut him off.

“It worked.” He said. “It gave me healing powers. But then he wouldn’t let me go, he wanted to experiment farther to try and create more of me. So I escaped. He followed me. I was the only experiment that succeeded, I guess. He tried to take me back… so I killed him. And it felt _good_ , Peter, I actually _enjoyed_ seeing him die. So I kept killing. And I’m still killing,” he finished softly. “Every time I do I just remember his face.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Wade… You know we can find ways to help you.”

Wade shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’m too far gone, Pete.”

Peter put his hands on Wade’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You’re not. We can figure this out.”

Wade rolled his eyes, but they were glimmering with fresh tears as he answered bitterly, “What are you gonna do, send me to a therapist?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Peter, that’s _not gonna help._ I literally kill people as a _profession_. I don’t think therapists are used to patients that have murdered people.”

“I know one therapist that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guess who the therapist is gonna beeeeeeeeeeeee


	21. peter: lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing what happened to Wade, Peter panics. 
> 
> *tw for panic attack*

Peter’s head was pounding like a million little hammers were hitting his brain over and over and over. He pressed his fingers into his forehead, blinking back the tears rising again in his eyes. He took a deep breath before the elevator beeped, opening at his floor. He just needed to go to his room and process everything he’d just heard.

As soon as he heard the voices from the kitchen he realized what he’d forgotten. _Shit._ Sharon was still here. He would worry about that later.

He snuck past them on his way to his room and collapsed onto his bed, the cool pillow a small comfort against the waves of sadness, guilt, and fear rolling into his head. He still couldn’t fully bring himself to think about what had happened to Wade. Torture. The thought made his stomach twist. He tried to breathe deeply so he wouldn’t puke.

Wade had just been a kid. Just a fifteen-year-old. Younger than Peter. And they had taken away his hope. “Healed him.” It hadn’t healed him. It had just destroyed him in another way. They should have taken him to a _hospital,_ not to a fucking _facility._ He remembered Wade’s glazed look when he had described it, and he wanted to rip them limb from limb. Everyone that had contributed to this. Every single _monster_ that had hurt Wade. 

Wade didn’t want to kill people. He just didn’t think he had any other choice. 

“Hey, Peter?” Peter looked up, broken out of his trance by a hand on his shoulder. It was Tony. “You okay? We were calling for you. It’s dinner time.”

Peter sat up, shaking his head. “I can’t go to dinner.”

“Why?”

Peter wracked his brains for an excuse, for something to be able to get out of it, but he couldn’t think of anything. He didn’t want to tell Tony about Wade. “Homework,” he said weakly, but he knew Tony wouldn’t buy that.

Tony sat down next to Peter, misinterpreting the reason he was making excuses. “Listen, I know that it’s kind of weird with Sharon, but she’s a good person, and at least for Steve’s sake we have to try to be as nice to her as possible, okay?”

Peter looked up at him, his mind elsewhere. “Yeah,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything else.

That’s how he ended up at the table with his dads and Sharon, completely unable to pay any attention to the conversation going on around him.

Peter looked down at his plate, but he didn’t quite see it in focus, or at least didn’t notice it. Instead, he was with Wade, Wade, Wade, where everything was wrong, he was hurt, he was hurting, and he thought Peter was going to be _angry._

Peter’s breathing was shaky, and he had to focus to pull air into his lungs.

It was like he was swimming, going lazily with the river until he reached the edge, then suddenly, so, so, suddenly, he was falling off the edge of the waterfall. It was fucking terrifying.

As soon as he hit the bottom, he would be pulled violently under. And he would drown.

Peter shut his eyes, trying to block everything out, but everything was everywhere and he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

He took a breath, but his chest was shaking, he was shaking, and the noise was too loud in his head and the colors through his closed eyes still seemed too bright but he felt alone.

But he wasn’t, not like Wade had been.

He felt like he was panting now. Like the world had taken a breath and left Peter with no air in a silent, still, place. But he was still choking.

As the fork Peter was holding snapped in two from his grip, Peter opened his eyes. He was thrumming from something that made him want to scream and cry and run, but he couldn’t. No, he was choking.

The three adults were looking at him worriedly.

“I- I…” Peter looked at the fork, a clean break in the center and the top half lying on the table. “I need to go- go to the bathroom,” he choked.

Peter stumbled out of the room, clutching at the wall with one hand, the other balled in a fist with his fingernails digging into his palm. He staggered into the bathroom, collapsing onto the tiled floor as soon as he was able to shut the door behind him and click the lock. He sat against the cabinet, shaking, trying to figure out what was happening, trying to collect himself, but he just couldn’t. It scared him even more. 

Somewhere through the haze, he could hear light, increasingly persistent knocking, but he ignored it. He couldn’t think about it. Or anything. He was just trying to focus on remembering to breathe. 

Suddenly Tony was there. He wasn’t sure how, he faintly remembered locking the door, but he didn’t care because in that moment he needed him to be there. He was so scared, and his dad could help him. Tony looked relieved, but sad, at the sight of him, and Peter suddenly realized that his own face was streaked with tears. Tony sat down on the floor in front of him, and he was talking, and Peter couldn’t quite tell what he was saying but he didn’t sound scared, and he didn’t freak out, so maybe it would be okay after all.

Peter took deep breaths, trying to think enough to understand what Tony was saying. 

“Hey, this is no big deal, okay? It’s just a panic attack. Some people get them. I do. In a few minutes you’ll calm down and it’ll go away. No rush. For now, I’ll just talk to you, k?” Tony rambled on about random things, what he’d worked on today in the lab, a new TV show he wanted to watch with Peter, a pizza delivery place he’d eaten from that might be the best he’d ever found, and Peter listened. 

Ten minutes later, Peter had regained control of his breathing, he’d wiped away his tears on his shirt sleeve, and his heart had slowed to a more reasonable speed. His thoughts were still spiraling out of control in his head, but he ignored them for a moment. He pushed himself across the bathroom to Tony and hugged him tightly.

“I’m sorry I made you come to dinner,” Tony whispered. “You can go to your room for the rest of it if you want.”

“Will you bring me dessert?” he asked, looking at Tony with wide, sad eyes.

That earned him a laugh, and Tony stood up, pulling up Peter behind him. “Yeah, I guess I’ll bring you some dessert. Just this once.” 

Peter smiled, following his dad out of the bathroom, vaguely noticing the broken lock on the door. 

That… that had been scary. And this. This Wade thing. It was scary. 

But he’d be okay. He always was.


	22. damian:  furnace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A security guard from rural Canada's point of view. This is what the Winter Soldier has been up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to go back to school :(

_Damian_ was written on the name tag that was pinned to the security guard’s blue uniform. He fidgeted with it- he wasn’t used to wearing it all the time. There wasn’t really any point, to be fair. They didn’t get many visitors. Damian worked night-shift at Warehouse 14B, meaning long hours of staring at empty monitors and trying to stay awake.

He lazily pulled a little sketchbook and a pencil out of his pocket, flipping it open to the newest piece of work.

Smiling up at Damian was an unrefined sketch of two people, a strong-jawed man looking down lovingly at a little girl- his daughter. The man and Damian’s daughter.

Damian and Joseph’s little Lucy was seven years old, but she was already as quick as a whip and so stubborn and scolding that she could very well be compared to a contrary old lady.

In Damian’s drawing, Lucy was scowling pointedly at an amused Joseph, though there was the smallest hint of a smile in her eyes.

Or there would be, if Damian could figure out how to draw her eyes. They didn’t quite look right, no, they weren’t bright enough or tilted quite how they should be.

He took out an eraser and sighed.

Lucy loved it when he drew, and would usually curl up beside him and watch the lines fall into place and fill the smooth white paper with life. Every time, she would ask him how he made it all look so real. 

_Papa?_ She would ask, _how do you know where it looks too empty? How did you get it to do that? Why should it be brighter there?_ And he would answer, taking her through it step by step.

Lucy insisted she could never get it right- _it’s magic, Papa, what you draw._ She would shake her head ruefully. _And I don’t have it quite like you do._

Her birthday was in a week or so- she was growing up so fast. But Damian had gotten her a sketchbook just like his, and a notebook, filled with drawing techniques he knew she didn’t understand yet, and instructions and notes and things he knew.

In the front cover, he had written, _you have the magic, Lucy._

Damian leaned back in his spinning chair, twisting side to side idly as he surveyed his work.

As he glanced up briefly to grab his water bottle his eyes were drawn up to the monitors. Damian blinked. At the very end of the hallway in the last camera’s view, was the figure of a man. Damian shook his head as though to clear it, unsure of whether he had actually seen anything.

The figure was gone when he looked again. Damian rubbed his eyes, pegging the figure up to exhaustion. Which wasn’t good, at all, if he was seeing things. Joseph was right. He needed more sleep.

As if to prove it, Damian gave a long yawn and shook his head once more.

Then he froze.

On the monitors, in front of the last camera, was a metal hand, blocking the view. It was a claw, gripping the camera. The _hidden_ camera.

The screen went dark.

Damian scrambled for his intercom, talking so quickly he wasn’t sure any of it was coherent.

But the message was apparently clear enough, and two uniformed security officers appeared on the monitors, guns poised in front of them.

This time, Damian could see the intruder clearly. It was a brown-haired man, wearing a mask which covered up most of his face.

His left arm was made of metal. 

He moved silently but forcefully, and clearly knew what he was doing, as Damian saw in horror.

A shot rang out, but the man held out his hand and the bullet hit it harmlessly, bouncing off.  
In seconds, the two officers were thrown to the ground, their necks snapped. Damian’s blood ran cold, unable to look away from his dead coworkers. Once again the man looked directly into the hidden camera, not slightly out of breath. 

Damian reached for his intercom, his hands shaking- he pressed the button and began to talk, but the line was dead and crackling. There was no one else on this shift tonight. He glanced to the camera, where the man was walking down the hall swiftly.

He was in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, with only a small town nearby. The only other people here were dead. And the man was walking towards his office. The police wouldn’t get here in time. 

There was nothing he could do.

He picked up his phone, opening messages. 

His eyes were blurred with tears and he had trouble hitting the right keys.

He didn’t have time to write out a beautiful paragraph. Nothing particularly eloquent came to mind. No. He wrote the one thing that seemed to be running through his head; the one thing that always, _always was._

_I love you. And Lucy. So much._

Looking at the text, written out and ready to send, made everything so much worse. 

He clicked send and looked away. He couldn’t bear to watch it go through. He carefully took his gun out of its holster, waiting.

And he watched, helplessly, as the metal armed man continued on, shooting every camera with a stolen gun until all the monitors were black but one.

The man turned to the metal door in front of him, and Damian watched as he kicked it down, and simultaneously the door to his left clattered to the ground.

He shot, but the man blocked the bullets lazily. His gun was no match. He was no match.

He was frozen in place, rooted to the ground with fear, as the man walked towards him, and Damian knew he could not escape if he tried.

The man raised his arm and shot the last monitor. It crackled with noise before going blank as well.

Then he turned to Damian.

His eyes were blank, completely and utterly, but his jaw was set and his posture rigid.

He reached out his metal arm and caught Damian’s neck in its grasp.

The hand tightened, and Damian could feel the cold metal bite into him as his hands came up to claw at the arm, but it did nothing.

“Please,” he whispered, but the man didn’t move, didn’t even seem to hear him.

His lungs burned and he could hear his heartbeat slow, and Damian watched the world slip into oblivion.

All he could think of as it faded was his little Lucy and her magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was my idea and when I saw how beautifully my co-author wrote Damian's story, I wanted to call it off and save him. (HE'S GOT A DAUGHTER. FOR GOD'S SAKE. WE CAN'T JUST KILL HIM.) But apparently "emotional depth" or whatever is a thing in writing. So that's the story of why I'm crying right now. Yeah. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope this chapter made you cry too! I guess! Yay...!
> 
> We LOVE comments more than anything so if you wanna comment we would be eternally grateful :) Thank you for reading!!!


	23. tony: dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Tony being worried and overprotective <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this is a _very_ little snapshot of what Tony worries about. He's so worried and stressed out that it stresses me out to think of all the things he's stressed about.
> 
> And now I'm stressed.
> 
> Go read the chapter before I dig myself an even deeper hole of worry.

Tony leaned against the counter, head in his hands, rubbing his temples.

It was late, but he forced himself up and turned to the sink, looking for something, anything, to keep himself busy. 

Sharon had left a few hours ago, after Peter went upstairs, and Tony had been relieved and exhausted when he watched the cab drive away.

Tony could see why Sharon visited: It made sense, her being a somewhat prominent part of S.H.I.E.L.D., and it was far too important to keep on good terms with them and they with the Avengers.

Though it was kind of cruel for Fury to send Sharon, of all people. 

Steve’s ex.

Tony paused as he looked down at the dish he was holding- he had cleaned it at least three times absentmindedly, even though there were more dishes and a dishwasher right beside him.

He didn’t have the energy to do much except sigh.

When Sharon came, Tony was careful around Steve, even though it was usually Tony who people needed to be careful around. No, Steve was perfectly fine. Or just perfect. You could leave it there too.

When Sharon came over, Steve always made a point to be holding Tony’s hand or touching his somehow, reminding him he was there, for Tony. 

Oh, and Peter.

It was probably the most awkward for Peter. And then that, that plus _something else_ , had triggered him.

Tony had seen the moment Peter wasn’t really there anymore. Not physically- just, in his eyes, it was clear he wasn’t seeing the white table or anything on it.

Tony knew those eyes. They looked too much like his own.

And then Peter had snapped. Kind of literally, too, when the fork he was holding broke in two and Tony had said his name over and over and he hadn’t heard and Steve had reached out, Steve knew what was happening too, and Peter had ran.

Tony and Steve bolted up from the table, and Tony basically sprinted after his son.

To her credit, Sharon followed just as quickly, seeming genuinely concerned.

Tony couldn’t get in before Peter closed the door clumsily and locked it, because he couldn’t think right and he was scared.

Tony wanted to kill whatever had scared him.

He knew he probably shouldn’t have broken the door to get to Peter, but he had needed to make sure he was okay and that it was just a panic attack.

That was the first time Peter had ever had a panic attack, Tony was pretty sure. He hoped it didn’t become often. He didn’t want Peter to have to go through what he still did.

Tony knew he was overprotective. He knew he should trust Peter to do what’s best for him. But when Tony was young he hadn’t done what was best, noone had been there to tell him, and he had made all of the wrong decisions and it had almost cost him everything.

He didn’t want Peter to have a childhood like his.

Tony shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head as if to move away from his current thoughts. He didn’t like to think about his past. He didn’t really like to think about anything that happened before he started dating Steve, because it still hurt him and he wanted to forget it.

He thought about it, though. Every day. Memories stick with you longer the more you want to forget them. 

Tony knew he would have nightmares tonight. Sometimes he just knew. But at least Steve would be there.

Steve who had saved Tony’s life, who had pulled him away from the darkness and helped him start to heal. Tony wasn’t terrified of falling asleep anymore because he knew Steve would be there even if he woke up terrified. He wasn’t scared of going outside anymore because he knew no matter what Steve would find him. If he panicked or if he fell back into the past Steve would help him resurface.

Tony hadn’t even realized there were tears in his eyes until he felt them on his cheek. He wiped them away quickly. Peter would be fine. Tony would be fine.

“Tony?” Steve rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he came into the kitchen. Tony stood up from the counter, rubbing the tears out of his eyes and looking at Steve. “Hey, Tony,” Steve said quietly, walking over and putting his arms around him softly. “You okay?”

Tony nodded, but then he shook his head. “I mean I am, I’m just…”

“Worried about Peter?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s gonna be okay. He’s a teenager. Some parts of being a teenager suck. But he’ll get through it.”

Tony leaned into Steve, hugging him tightly and letting his tears be caught in Steve’s shirt. He didn’t talk, and Tony was glad of that.

They swayed a little, just holding each other, for as long as they needed.


	24. sam: pizza & climate change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a text from Peter. They converse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed our streak of darker chapters, it will last much longer still. (Tho this one's a bit happier? Sort of? Maybe?)

Sam splashed water on his face, trying to wake himself up. He was exhausted. When he had joined the Avengers he had been thinking more along the lines of _fighting crime_ , and less _attending boring international meetings,_ but it was just a part of the job, annoyingly. And he had to do it more than the others because he could actually handle professional affairs without “ _I am Iron Man”_ ing it and causing chaos. 

He had another meeting in an hour, but for now, he could get some food and hopefully be able to rest a bit. He’d ordered a pizza (sausage, peppers, basil with the olive oil over arugula and white sauce mmmmm- he didn’t want to go outside, it was rainy and way too cold for _basically_ summer. Sam sighed. Climate change. Also, he was in Northern Canada, but mostly climate change. (Actually probably mostly because he was in Northern Canada. Whatever.)

He sat down on his hotel bed, checking his phone. There were a few texts from Peter, which was kind of unusual. _Hey I need to tell you something,_ he had said, and then: _It’s kind of important._ And then: _FaceTime me when you’re able to._

Sam frowned. He wasn’t sure why Peter would want to talk to him, specifically, as opposed to his parents or any of the other Avengers at the tower, but he opened FaceTime and called him. Peter picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, Peter. What is it?”

“Can you keep a secret? Please? I really need your help with something,” Peter’s voice was urgent.

“If the secret won’t hurt anyone… then probably?” Sam didn’t want to make any promises.

Peter frowned. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“My dads let me skip. I had a panic attack last night and I needed a day to figure out how to calm down and like, stop freaking out and stuff, and I’m tired.”

“You had a panic attack?”

“Yeah. But can we please get back to the matter at hand?”

“Right. Do your parents know whatever it is you want me to keep secret?”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t help you keep something from your parents.”

“Please. I promise it won’t hurt anyone, and my dads don’t understand, they’d just be angry and they wouldn’t give him a chance.”

“Who?”

Peter gulped like he hadn’t meant to say that. Sam thought for a second. It was better to know the secret, anyhow, to make sure Peter was safe. Worst case, he would have to tell Tony and Steve, but maybe he could just help Peter figure whatever it was out on his own. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone. Lay it on me.”

Peter looked nervous now that he actually had to tell Sam the “secret”. 

“Okay. Okay, let me start from the beginning.”

And so Sam listened as Peter told him about the guy in the dark alley, about becoming friends, about confronting him and finding out what had driven him to be a mercenary in the first place, and Sam understood why Peter had panicked, because hearing about it he felt sick even though he heard about messed up life stories all the damn time.

When Peter finished, he looked at Sam pleadingly. “Please help him figure out how to heal. He’s not evil. He just needs help. Please. You’re the only person who can.”

Sam looked at Peter. He was overwhelmed. Deadpool, he had never doubted that the mysterious masked mercenary was an enemy. And here Peter was telling him he was just a kid. Just a lonely kid who was hurt and scared. Who obviously needed help, who obviously wasn’t lost yet.

But he was losing his way, right now, as Sam thought.

“Peter, I can’t promise that anything I do would help, you know that, right?”

“But- you’ll help him?”

“I can try,”

Peter breathed out a breath that seemed like he had been holding since they started the call.

“Thank you, Sam,” he smiled, a little tentatively.

Sam smiled a little back, and then with a “Yeah, I’ll see you later,” he hung up.

Sam knew he should tell Tony and Steve. But he also knew that would hurt Peter, and certainly not help Deadpool.

_Deadpool._

Good god, what was he doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM NOT REaDY 4 SCHOOL OH MY goSH


	25. peter: phonecall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hangs out with MJ and Wanda and gets some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today I went back to school and all of the anxiety and stress and lack of free time that it comes with and every single one of my classes was the most average crop of dying souls that the world has ever placed behind the graffitied wooden prisons people like to call desks.
> 
> Anyways, I am tired, yes it's nine o'clock, go read the chapter.

By the time MJ arrived outside the Tower, Peter had nearly worn a track in the living room floor from all his pacing.

He had texted MJ asking her to come over once he’d finished talking to Sam. She wasn’t in school since she was suspended, and her dad was on a work trip as usual and wouldn’t know if she hung out with him. 

MJ rang the doorbell, her eyebrows rising in surprise when she saw Peter. He was, in all entirety, the embodiment of the word _disheveled_. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, clearly rumpled and creased into all oblivion, and his hair looked vaguely like he had attempted to brush it with a helium balloon.

“Parker. What _happened_?!” Was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

Peter smiled wryly, shaking out his hair. “That bad?”

MJ bit her lip. “Not that bad…?” Peter raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, okay, Peter, I’m usually the bluntest person in all of New York, you look terrible.” 

Peter nodded, opening the door enough for her to step inside. “Yeah… I’m not doing great, to be honest.”

“Well, you better explain this,” she gestured at him. With that, she led the way to their kitchen and set some water boiling as Peter slumped into a chair across from her on the island.

MJ steepled her hands and looked at him carefully, analyzing him.

“Alright, actually answer me though. What happened?”

Peter hesitated for a moment.

“Well, ah, Wade happened, I guess?”

MJ sprang up in a moment, like she was about to murder someone. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What. The fuck. Did he do.”

“No! No, no, he didn’t- he didn’t do anything to me, none of this is his fault-“ His voice dropped a little. “Nothing is his fault.”

MJ sank back down slowly into her chair, jerking back up when the tea started to whistle. “So, nothing is his fault. What happened, Peter?”

“Well… I was having a bad day, you know? Like, super Lucifer fandom hell-type-stuff-bad-day.”

“Uh huh, uh huh, bad day. Go on,” she said, pouring some tea for the both of them.

“Well, so, I was thinking about everything that happened that day and everything we all talked about at Shuri’s, and figured that the day couldn’t get much worse.”

“So… you talked to Wade. About his murdery-ness.”

“...Yeah.” 

“And he’s _not_ the reason for… this?” MJ gestured to Peter, who was staring so intently at the tea in front of him he looked like he was trying to move it with his mind.

“No. Not really.”

“You gonna, like, elaborate?”

“It’s not my story to tell though.”

“Have you _seen_ yourself, Peter? It’s obviously affecting you, so I’m pretty sure it’s at least partly your story to tell.” Peter frowned. MJ sighed, opening up the fridge. “Have you even eaten today?”

“No,” Peter mumbled. He hadn’t really done anything except call Sam.

“Okay, well this is unacceptable. You’re going to go shower and change, and I’m going to make late lunch, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong. Got it?”

Peter nodded and went to shower. When he came out, there were eggs and toast and sausage on the table. MJ was sitting on the counter eating. Peter took a seat, pulling his plate towards himself. “Thanks, MJ.”

“You’re welcome. Now you have to tell me what’s happening.”

Peter sighed. “I can’t tell you the specifics. It’s Wade’s business.” MJ raised her eyebrows but stayed silent. “Basically I confronted him about it and he told me his… backstory, for lack of a better word. And it was so, so messed up, MJ, and it freaked me out and then when I got home I had a panic attack because of it and then I didn’t sleep all night and Tony said I could stay home.” MJ looked like she wanted to interrupt, but she stayed quiet. “And so then I called Sam and asked him if he could try to like, give Wade therapy and he said he would.” Peter took a bite of eggs in the ensuing silence. 

“Okay. You had a panic attack.”

“Yeah.”

“Because of what he said.”

“Yeah.”

“But he didn’t do anything wrong… something happened _to_ him.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re going to help him.”

“Yup.”

“Well… That’s really good, Peter.”

Peter looked at MJ, surprised. “Really? You think it’s a good idea?”

“Well of course I do. It sounds like you trust him. It sounds like you think you can help him. Whatever happened to him sounds horrific, but that’s not his fault.”

“But… he kills people.”

“You’re going to help him stop doing that. Plus, you told me he only kills people he thinks are bad. How is that different from your parents?”

Peter sat back. He had never thought about it like that.

“So I should do this,” Peter started to feel an overwhelming sense of relief. He wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Absolutely.”

The two sat in silence for a while, eating their food. Peter glanced at the clock. School had ended a minute ago.

“Have you talked to him since yesterday?” MJ asked as she got ice from the freezer and put it in her now cold tea. (It’s ice tea now) (funny how the world works huh) Peter shook his head regretfully.

“I don’t know I didn’t want to seem too freaked out. I want to make sure he’s okay, but I feel like he might think I don’t trust him. Do you think I should?”

“Do you think he’s okay?”

“...Probably?”

“Then you can just wait and see him on patrol tomorrow. He’s fine.” 

Peter nodded. 

“Right, well-” MJ was cut off as the door swung open and Wanda peered in.

“Oh! Hey, MJ, hi Peter. Why weren’t you in school today?”

“MJ, can you...?” Peter trailed off. He didn’t want to explain it all again. Just thinking about it was draining. Luckily, MJ quickly explained to Wanda about the panic attack and Wade and everything that had happened. 

Wanda nodded and promptly enveloped Peter in a hug. Peter almost laughed a little as he hugged her back, and when he let go he saw MJ was smiling.

Immediately she scowled at him. “Now let’s go watch Lucifer.”

Peter found himself smiling and laughing with MJ and Wanda as Chloe solved the case and Luci pinned another idiot to the wall.

MJ hit the pause button and turned to them. “I know I’ve said this before but Maze is so effortlessly gorgeous it kills me a little.”

“And coming from MJ, that is most certainly the highest declaration of love that could ever be given, and I conclude she is head over heels for Maze.” Wanda nudged her. 

“No, no,” Peter retorted lightly, “She’s already head over heels for someone else.”

Wanda grinned. “I almost forgot. MJ-“

“Hey it’s kind of late, right? Um, Wanda, would you mind driving me home?” MJ interrupted, checking her watch, which read, _11:43._

They had a watched a lot of Lucifer.

Wanda sighed at her change of subject before nodding and getting up to get her keys. MJ was talking to Peter, saying, “You’re doing the right thing, Peter. Just talk to Wade tomorrow- and nothing is really different, right? He’s still the same, just a little bit stronger from telling you.”

Peter nodded, looking up to Wanda and her. “Thank you. I love you both.”

Wanda smiled and pulled them both into a hug.

After they left, Peter was alone in the tower other then the Avengers. His dads weren’t there- they had an important work trip that night. But Peter was feeling better, on top of the world, and he was okay tonight without them.

He stepped up the stairs as his phone rang, and his eyebrows involuntarily raised with worry when he saw who it was.

_Incoming call from Wade._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ant to any of you in school, good luck- you've got this year. You made it through the first day, you can make it through two hundred more... right?
> 
> Also Lucifer is an incredible show go watch it


	26. wade: shut up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is having trouble. He decides to drink to try and stop thinking.
> 
> *Please read the note.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to warn y'all that in this chapter Wade does go get very drunk. He never gets violent, though. Also, he's not of legal age to drink obviously. If you want to skip him being drunk, just read up to the line like this ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ and I'll add a short summary at the end. This will be the only chapter where he is drunk in the fic, just so you know.
> 
> For the record, his healing factor lets him get incredibly drunk without dying/passing out.
> 
> Also, it's slightly weirdly worded since I didn't want to write out the _entire_ night but know that the drinking part of this chapter does actually last a few hours.

Wade needed to stop thinking. 

His fears were chasing each other around his head, each one worse than the last, all, in the end, about the same brown-eyed messy-haired boy who he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

It would be hard for most people to conceptualize how Wade felt, how scared he was.

His mom had left him.

His dad had kicked him out.

His best and only friend had eventually given up on him too.

Everyone in Wade’s life left him.

What stopped Peter from doing the same?

Wade’s dad had always reminded him why he was destined to always be alone: He was weak. He was sensitive. He was stupid. He was needy. And sitting there on his old, broken down couch, Wade felt like all of those things and more.

{We got through the torture.}

[We didn’t. Not really.]

{Peter knows what has happened to you, and he’s still here.}

“He doesn’t understand!” Wade screamed in frustration, jumping up, his eyes wide with pain. “And once he realizes-- how-- how _broken_ I am, he’ll leave! Like everyone else!”

[If he does that we should kill him.]

“Of _course_ I won’t kill him! I-- I love him,” Wade’s voice dropped, like it was a secret, like it was something that no one should ever hear, not even himself. 

And in a way it was, because Wade couldn’t be left again. He couldn’t be hurt like that again, by someone that he trusted. He didn’t honestly know if he’d survive it. It’s one reason he never made more friends, even though he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

“He’ll leave,” Wade whispered. “He’ll leave like everyone else in my goddamn life. And hopefully, he’ll find someone whole.” Wade’s voice cracked, a tear falling onto the floor.

Neither of Wade’s boxes tried to argue. 

-I believe that you are whole.-

Me too.

“No, I’m not. I’m broken. I’m fucked up. You _must_ know that. Look at me.”

-I see someone who is trying.-

I see someone who has faced some of the worst things the world has to offer and is still standing.

-I see someone who is loved beyond anything he could ever believe.-

I see someone who keeps getting knocked down…

-But always finds the courage to stand back up.-

I see someone who has--

“SHUT UP!! Shut UP! You stupid _fucking_ voices in my _fucking_ head you think that I appreciate this? I know shit has happened to me! Of course I fucking know _I’m_ the one who had to live through it and I just want to get to be a teenager, have a boyfriend, go to school, maybe even have _parents,_ wouldn’t that be just great, but I can’t, can I, instead I live in this shithole and I murder people for a living, so no, I don’t need to hear that my life has gone wrong, I _really fucking know_ and you’re the fucking people that made it this way. How can you think _this_ is standing?” He gestured at himself, sunk down on the floor. “And I never asked for stupid voices in my head,” he whispered. “I didn’t _want_ to be insane.”

{We’re not ins--}

[We are.]

“Please be quiet. I need to make you be quiet. I need to not hear it. I need to.” Wade struggled to his feet. “That guy Weasel owes me a favour…”

{Please don’t get drunk.}

[Don’t be like your father.]

“SHUT UP!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wade was very tall and muscled for his age, so it really wasn’t any trouble getting into Mick’s, despite being three years too young to legally drink. He took a seat at the bar looking a lot less out of place than he should. Weasel was working at the bar, as Wade had assumed he would be, even though he’d only been here once before. Wade gestured to the short, beady-eyed man, and he came over quickly.

{Please don’t do this. We were over it.}

_You are the reason that I need this, so shut up._

“What do you need, Wilson? Are the authorities after me again?” His eyes darted around as if to spot them coming in.

“Nah. I just came to get really drunk,” Wade said lazily.

[You sound like your dad.]

Don’t. Fucking. Say. That.

Weasel looked confused. “But you’re under--”

“Remember you owe me a favour,” Wade hissed quietly. “All I want is for you to buy me as many drinks as I need, and we’ll be all even. Or else…” Wade put his finger on the barely gun in his belt he knew he wouldn’t use. He just needed to _convince_ Weasel. A little fear never did anyone any harm. 

[We told Peter we wouldn’t threaten anyone for our own gai--]

_Peter won’t know._

Weasel’s face was white. “Of course, sir. And what will you be having?”

“Beer,” Wade grunted. “Whatever beer you have, I don’t care.”

“Coming right up, sir.” Weasel quickly went to get the drink, and Wade resolutely tried to focus on anything but the anxiety plaguing his brain. It was really hard to do.

{This is a really bad idea. You remember how bad it got last time.}

[If you go back home we’ll try to be quiet.]

_You won’t. And I need to not think right now._

{Please don’t do this.}

_It isn’t that big of a deal. People get drunk all the time. No need to get all worried about it._

{But--}

“Shut up!” Wade hissed, and no one looked at him weird because this was already an incredibly sketchy bar anyway.

Weasel handed Wade his drink quickly before going off the help another customer. Wade lifted it to his lips and closed his eyes.

{Please don’t. Peter likes us, text him. Maybe we can go to a movie or someth--}

Wade gulped down the whole bottle and gestured for more.

 

“He says I shu’ go to a therapist,” Wade said to no one in particular as he watched Weasel get his third drink. “They would prob’ly tell me I shouldn’t kill people and that I’m a terrible person who’s beyond saving,” Wade laughed, though there wasn’t any humour behind it. “And I already know that. So what’s th’ point.”

Weasel handed him his drink and hurried off to help others at the bar, keen not to be near Wade for too long. Wade took a gulp.

“But I’ll go anyways I guess if it’s to make him not hate me. Run away from the inebita-- inevitable,” Wade sighed, leaning heavily against the bar and taking another sip. “Now he knows, he’ll be gone soon,” he whispered.

He drained the rest of the bottle. “I’m too broken for anyone,” Wade explained, to no one in particular. He gestured for another bottle.

Four beers. Five beers. Six. Wade wasn’t really thinking about Peter anymore. He wasn’t really thinking about anything. He swayed slightly on his chair. 

“Another,” he mumbled.

-Wait. He’s not supposed to do that.-

He’s not...

“I can do wha’ I want,” Wade said, swigging the bottle. “You’re not the boss of me.” He dropped the bottle on the floor when he finished. It shattered. The bar was relatively loud, and nobody noticed. 

He gestured for another bottle.

Wade. You have to stop. This isn’t safe.

He drank.

-Wade. Call Peter. Please call Peter.-

He kept drinking.

Wade, listen. Listen to me, you have to call Peter. You have to--

“Peter’ll leave me if he sees me like this,” Wade muttered, and he took another sip.

-Wade please call Peter. I promise he won’t leave you. It’s not safe to be this drunk here. You have to stop. Please stop.-

He didn’t stop.

He finished the bottle and gestured for another. Weasel couldn’t refuse. He was too scared to. He passed it to him. 

Please. _Please_ , I know you don’t want to be drunk. You want to be with Peter.

“But I can’t.”

-But you can. Just call him. He won’t hate you. I promise he won’t hate you. You need to call him.-

Wade stared at the bottle of beer in his hands, unable to focus on it. Unable to focus on anything. 

When he spoke it was barely intelligible. “He will.”

Do you really think we’d do that to you?

After a moment, Wade fumbled in his pocket for his phone, eventually successfully unlocking it. He found Peter’s contact and hovered his thumb over the call button.

_He will hate me._

-Wade. Please.-

He pressed call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Wade goes to a bar tended by a man called Weasel who he gave a favour to a while back. He gets incredibly drunk, and at his seventh beer, the authors realize he's no longer acting under their control and that he is drinking more than they had planned. They are forced to desperately try to convince him to call Peter, which in the end he does. 
> 
> I'm terrible at summaries I'm so sorry.


	27. peter: chemical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a worrying phone call from Wade. He hurries to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude. I am so tired. And I wrote this instead of doing my homework. And now I have to do it and I just want to SLEEEEP. I love math, but _dang_ , do I hate math.
> 
> Enjoy though!!!!!

“Peter,” Wade’s voice was slow and slurred. He didn’t sound at all like his usual upbeat energetic self and Peter was pretty sure it wasn’t just the bad phone connection. Peter’s heart raced in fear. He had no idea what was going on, but something was wrong with Wade. Something was definitely wrong with Wade.

“Are you okay? What’s happening?” Peter asked hurriedly.

“M’ okay. Perfec’ly okay.”

“Wade. Where are you?”

“I’m,” there was a slight pause. “At Mick’s.”

Peter frowned, quickly running over to his computer. “Mick’s like the pizza place?” He asked, scrolling through the web results.

“Mick’s like the bar,” Wade explained sluggishly.

Shit. He was drunk. _Shit._ He should have called him. He shouldn’t have let him be alone, not after he made him talk about all that… Peter felt sick. And responsible. For this. Shit. 

Peter quickly searched _Mick’s bar NYC_ and found the address. It looked shady. Of course it was shady, it had let seventeen-year-old Wade drink there. 

“Okay. I need you stay on the phone,” Peter said calmly, (or at least as calm as he could sound in the current situation) to Wade.

There was a silence. “Wade?”

“Oh! Yes,” Wade responded, to Peter’s relief. He scrambled into his Spiderman suit, climbing out of the window of his room. He was lucky his dads weren’t home.

Wade. Drunk. 

It had never occurred to Peter that he might have to worry about that. As crazy as Wade was, he’d never seemed like the _drinking_ type. It kind of scared Peter. What if Wade did drugs? Or something like that? What if he was an alcoholic? What if he really didn’t know Wade at all?

“I’m sorry,” Wade mumbled. “‘M really sorry. I didn’t-- I just wanted to make the voices go away,” he trailed off, and Peter was pretty sure he was crying. 

“Hey. Wade. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna come pick you up, and then I’ll get you home. You’ll be alright.”

Wade was really sobbing now. Peter could hear it through the suit audio. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, and Peter’s heart ached.

“I’m so close. I’m almost there. Just wait where you’re sitting. I’m coming. Just stay right where you are,” Peter said, and it was true, he could see the tiny building’s sign with his enhanced sight. “I’ll be right in.”

He mentally calculated his options. Should he go in as Peter Parker? Or Spiderman?

Well, technically Peter Parker wasn’t allowed in a bar. And it wouldn’t exactly be _odd_ for Spiderman to just show up somewhere to save someone who didn’t necessarily need it… 

Spiderman it is.

He just walked straight in. The man standing outside the door looked at him suspiciously but didn’t try to stop him. But when he got in, man, there was _chaos._ Half the people in the bar took one look at him and ran, creating a huge blockage at the door as everyone tried to get through. The bartender put down the glass he was cleaning and stepped back worriedly. Yeah. Definitely shady.

But Peter only had eyes for one person. Well, looking for one person. He couldn’t see him. Of course, he had never seen him without his suit on, so he wouldn’t know. But a guy slumped against the bar in a large grey sweatshirt that completely covered his face halfheartedly raised his hand. Peter ran to him.

“Wade?” He asked quietly. 

“That’s me,” Wade responded. It was muffled through the hoodie.

“Are you okay?”

“Ye- N- Maybe,” Wade answered. Peter could tell he was a little out of it.

“You know you don’t have to cover your face,” Peter whispered. “I’m not gonna reveal your secret identity or whatever. You know that.”

At the word face, Wade’s sweater-covered hands had risen directly to cover his face. Peter sighed. “Okay. Well follow me. You drove here, right?”

Wade nodded, but when he went to get out of the chair he fell. Peter caught him. _Fuck it._ Peter picked Wade up easily, bridal-style. Wade was way bigger than him, but Peter had super-strength so it wasn’t really a struggle.

Wade seemed surprised, although Peter couldn’t see his face, but he quickly relaxed into Peter’s arms. 

“Can you give me your car keys?” Peter asked. His heart was gradually slowing down now that Wade was with him. Now that he was safe. He hadn’t been able to fully admit to himself how scared he had been until Wade was here, in his arms, and he was okay.

But there was a different sort of worry forming in his stomach, a sort of slower one that ate away at him like a chemical in science class. 

He was scared. For Wade. He had known Wade wasn’t… well… _okay,’_ for lack of a better word, but he hadn’t really realized what that might mean. He hadn’t realized it could be dangerous. Dangerous for Wade. It just made him want to get Wade to Sam sooner.

Wade rummaged in his pocket for a while. His coordination seemed very off, which, Peter supposed, was normal for a drunk person. He hadn’t seen very many drunk people before. Thor, definitely, but then Thor always acted a bit drunk so it wasn’t a big change.

Finally he handed Peter the keys, and Peter stepped out of the bar into the windy night, to the bartender’s obvious relief, and clicked them, walking over to the car that beeped. He remembered it, just barely because he had been in immense pain, from that first night he had met him.

He opened the back door, setting Wade down in the back seat. He didn’t bother to buckle his seatbelt. Wade couldn’t really sit up anyways.

Peter closed the door and hopped into the front seat, putting the keys in the ignition. 

Okay, so _technically_ speaking, Peter didn’t have a driver’s license. But he pretty much got the hang of it. “Where’s your house?” He asked Wade, who was lying down in the backseat and possibly asleep.

He wasn’t, it turned out. “Uhhhh--- The garage at the end of--” 

Peter frowned at the word garage but followed Wade’s instructions, asking Karen for directions to get there. He tried to talk to Wade again, but this time he was fast asleep.


	28. wade: bloodstains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade wakes up in his own bed, but how did he get here? He can't quite remember...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank the actual gods its friday

Wade woke up with a killer headache and a weird sense of panic.

Maybe it was because he woke up in a giant hoodie that certainly wasn’t his, or because he didn’t remember coming home last night… or because the voices in his head were dead silent.

Except, well, now that he began to think… Wade was pretty sure he knew why.

So he decided to take advantage of having a normal, sane brain for once. Swinging his feet out of his bed, Wade stepped towards the door, opening it just wide enough to catch a glimpse of messy brown hair and a distinct spiderman hoodie.

He slammed the door shut.

Peter was here. He was here. 

Wade didn’t want to imagine what Peter thought when he walked in- when he saw the broken furniture and the bullet holes in the walls and the-

Bloodstains.

So many people had bled in that room.

Wade took a breath. He looked around his bedroom- it was a closet, really, with a small cot- for his mask, pulling it on and trying to _breathe._

Breathe.

He opened the door.

“Hey,” Peter was sitting cross legged on the ratty loveseat sipping a boba tea (through a gLASS STRAW BECAUSE THE ENVIRONMENT APPRECIATES IT).

“Hi.” Wade said timidly, looking self-consciously around the room. 

It was mostly dark, aside from a small window that was propped open, letting a minimal amount of light inside. The light let you see everything else.

Everything broken and bruised and dying, like Wade had been. Shit from the side of the road, unwanted, crates from the garage when it was still just that.

“What… happened last night? I think- I think you owe me an explanation.”

Wade swallowed.

“Well,” he croaked, “yesterday- everything was feeling like too much, you know? And the voices… and I couldn’t really handle it, so I went to Mick’s. Weasel, the bartender, he owed me. My- my dad used to drink, I think I told you,” Peter nodded, biting his lip, “It was ‘cause he couldn’t handle it.”

Wade gave a dry laugh. “Like father like son, I guess.”

Peter shook his head. “You… no. You…” he didn’t seem to know what to say, so he just beckoned Wade to the seat beside him. He shook his head again, resolutely, before he spoke softly.

“When you called me, I couldn’t help being terrified, you know? And when I found you there…” Peter trailed off. “Do- do the voices go away?”

Wade nodded. “They haven’t come back yet.”

“Why?”

“...I don’t know. Yesterday, when I was drinking… I got to a point where the authors told me to stop. But- they couldn’t. They couldn’t do anything to stop me.”

Wade took a sharp breath before Peter could open his mouth. “Did you see my face?”

Peter looked up into his mask and shook his head. His voice was almost a whisper when he answered.

“I wanted to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hi.
> 
> Because of school and stress and time, we've decided to routinely post on Fridays only. But! On the Tuesdays that are possible, we will post. 
> 
> Sorry about this, but we're trying our best. I'd also like to just say thank you right now, because it's really really awesome to be able to come back to ao3 and have a few of you who are sticking with us, you are incredible. 
> 
> With that, we will see you soon! <3


	29. wanda: stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda is worried about Peter. She thinks about stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired and my internet keeps cutting off nfjskdfnsjkdgnsfkdjlgsndfkg
> 
> I know this chapter is a bit odd and out of place I apologize.
> 
> omg im literally posting this with three minutes left in friday mata_hari I told you I could make the deadline ;)

Wanda had always been a bit overprotective of Peter. 

Clint was pretty sure it stemmed from her losing her brother. 

_“Wanda. I’m Spiderman. I’m literally superhuman,”_ Peter would say teasingly. But they both knew that Peter could be beaten. And he was the son of Iron Man and Captain America, there were a lot of people who could want to kidnap him or hurt him.

When she thought about it, she knew Clint was right. She had let her brother die and she would never really be over that, but at least she would keep all the rest of the people she loved safe. 

Wanda didn’t need protection like Peter did. She needed a different kind. After all, her biggest enemy was herself.

All of that to say; Wanda got really worried when she didn’t know where Peter was. And he’d been gone all night. Only one text, sent at 1 AM: _I’m fine, I cant talk now. Dont worry and plz dont tell my dads. christmas lights_

Okay. So the Christmas lights thing. It was Peter’s idea, because Wanda often wanted to make sure it was really him and not someone who had kidnapped him and stole his phone, or was forcing him to write her things. Peter had suggested that they have a sort of code so that he would sign important texts with a different phrase based on the day of the month. It sounded weird, but it helped. 

Wanda was a lot of the time anxious about things that weren’t really worth being anxious about, but everyone in the tower had been through really horrible things, and they would never give each other a hard time. 

Wanda liked to listen to the other’s stories. Well; that wasn’t the right way to put it. She didn’t enjoy hearing about all of the tragedy. Hearing about death and pain and guilt and feelings that would never go away.

But she did like the listen. She liked to let other people tell their stories. A lot of the times, she thought, people never did get to tell their stories because there was no one who would listen. 

And she knew that it helped them to know that someone cared. Not that someone cared about _them,_ that was important, but that was different. No, that someone cared about how they actually got to _be_ them.

She listened, and she remembered.

She remembered late nights where Clint sat on the couch staring into the little fireplace, Wanda curled up in the armchair drinking tea. Nights when everyone else had gone to bed a while ago. Sometimes, when he was really tired, he would start talking. About his dad. About the foster homes. About living on the streets. About how he didn’t trust himself to have kids, about how he never had an example and he was certain he’d mess it up. Wanda wanted to tell him that he’d basically been filling the role of her dad since she was 15, but she didn’t. 

Natasha only fully opened up to Wanda once. And that was a lot for her. 

They had been practicing a new fighting technique all day, just the two of them. Finally, Wanda had asked if they could wrap it up. It had been summer, and really hot. They pretty much had the move down, anyhow. She remembered the second she realized the sweat on Natasha’s face was mixing with tears. She remembered asking, _“Natasha? Are you okay?”_ And how Natasha quickly shook her head and sat down against the wall.

Wanda had sat down next to her, and minutes of silence passed before Natasha started talking. Wanda didn’t move for hours as Natasha recollected all of it. She just sat and watched. Afterward, she hugged her, and they never spoke about it again, but they were always a lot closer after that.

Bruce never talked about the bad things that had happened to him. But sometimes while he was working he would tell Wanda about all the good ones. About sunflowers, old college professors, a library from his hometown that was his favourite place in the world, that was thanks to Tony, still there. That was Bruce’s way of telling his story, and Wanda knew it was just as important.

Wanda had taken a long time to talk to Tony. She knew what she’d done to him; that the visions she’d shown to him still haunted his mind, and it was still one of the things that she regretted most. She knew now how much Tony suffered and how much she’d added onto it and she’d never forgive herself, even though Tony, one day, said he had. 

_“Wanda. I’m so sorry I’ve been cruel to you over the past few months. I know now that you didn’t mean harm, and that you’re trying to start a new life. And I’ve been making it even harder for you, even after your brother’s death, so I am really sorry. I hope we can be friends in the future.”_

She remembered that tears had rolled down her cheeks and she’d hastily wiped them away. She hadn’t understood how _Tony_ could be apologizing. _“I’m so sorry,”_ she’d whispered, and Tony had told her that it was completely okay. _“We all mess up. It’s behind us now. Anyway, I’ve got a kid your age who you might want to meet.”_

And that’s how she met Peter. 

Wanda stared at the phone. She’d already texted Peter like fifteen times. And she’d called him twice. She could only assume he’d fallen asleep somewhere. She decided to just do her math homework and wait. He _was_ Spiderman. He’d be fine. And if he took more than an hour to call her back she’d have to figure something out. 

Looking at her math homework she really hoped he would call her soon because geez which lines are they even talking abou-- whoops I broke the fourth wall there a bit accidentally bear with me I’m exhausted. Her mind drifted off again. All minds do; when faced with math homework. It’s basically an evolutionary thing. 

This chapter was meant to be all deep and stuff and then I had to go talk about math homework I apologize back to the regularly scheduled Wanda’s Point Of View:

Wanda had heard the saying many times: _Life is about the journey, not the destination_. She didn’t agree. Her journey to get where she was now had been hell. She remembered the good parts, of course. Pietro. But mainly, she remembered fear. She remembered pain. She remembered things that still came up in her nightmares. _That_ was her journey, and it certainly wasn’t what she wanted her life to be about.

But now? Now, Wanda was pretty sure that the destination was here. Now. Her friends, her family. Sure, she wasn’t perfect. But nothing ever is. Why can’t here and now be her destination? Why can’t people realize that they don’t always have to be working towards something? Sometimes, you’ve just reached your destination. You can’t always enjoy the journey. But Wanda was here and she was happy and that was enough for now.

The phone rang and she rolled her eyes when she saw it was Peter. He always called right as she was finishing her inner speeches. It was like a chapter of a fanfic. Honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Do_ I love taking innocent inspirational quotes and ruining them for myself by making my characters disagree with them? 
> 
> I won't tell you you have to guess


	30. hydra: cut ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA has some things to discuss, including their progress and their subject's new friend...

The men (and women) were crowded around the table, perhaps more closely than necessary, or even usually wanted.

But it had been an important night.

And this was an important meeting.

The table all watched in the dingy lighting as the glint of metal and a grating kind of voice broke the unusual muttering in the room, signaling the presence of two monumentally important people.

The first being the leader of the operation, a mask over most of his face and clothing that, in this light, looked almost like a snakeskin.

The second was met by a wave of trepidation. The Winter Soldier marched in on the arm of their leader, the Captain- though it was more as if their leader was following the Soldier, who had the presence of a warrior in the room.

“Men,” The captain’s voice was silky smooth but it held the distinct feeling that it was all in the wrong direction. “We have it.”

Whispers and sighs broke from the table.

_Did this really mean what it should? How did he do it? Are we sure?_

He silenced it with a slim hand.

“The warehouse was aways west, near a small town in Pennsylvania. The Soldier eliminated all witnesses, all evidence. Though it’s not like you could frame a man dead seventy years ago, now could you?”

This statement brought a small bout of tense laughter.

“We have it, men. GH. 325. We need only few things yet. We are close. And soon we may finish the deeds begun decades ago. Now, then, Doctor?”

At the prompt, a lanky man stood from the other end of the table.

“A note was sent, to the new subject. It was received, we are sure-“

“And ignored. You were very sure it would scare him, Doctor, no?” 

“Oh, yes, _perfectly sure_ , Sir.”

“Of course, perfectly sure,” came the hissed response of the captain. “But he has gotten comfortable, with his new… _friend._ ”

A hand was raised, and with a nod, the woman spoke. “Peter Parker, Spiderman, sir?”

“Yes… _him._ ”

“A formidable enemy, sir.”

“Indeed. Something we will have to work around. Somewhere we must cut ties…”

“Sir, if I may?” The doctor tilted his head as though considering something, but his eyes showed he was already right where he wished to be. 

“His new friend may serve us a purpose yet… let us not _cut ties_.” He smirked.

“Those ties might set us an easy trap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pears have seeds apparently
> 
> thats all i have to say


	31. peter: meet wanda.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're back with Peter and Wade, at Wade's "house". Wanda has been freaking out about where Peter's been, and insists on picking him up... and meeting Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. It's a Sunday. But our posting schedule thing has been weird anyhow, and we didn't post on Friday cause ao3 was down.
> 
> So here we are! Wanda ends up getting a bit of a spotlight, Good Omens style, so I hope you're okay with that!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Wanda picked up almost immediately. She was talking before Peter could even say “hi”. He grimaced. He was definitely in for a long lecture if he didn’t explain himself.

“Peter where have you _been?_ It’s been all night! Are you _serious?_ Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Wanda, I’m fine,” Peter interrupted. There was a short, annoyed silence on the other end. (How can a silence be annoyed? I don’t know, but it was.)

“Where have you been?” She asked again. He knew she’d immediately be able to tell if he lied. Somehow, her weird mind power thing worked even when it couldn’t. (Maybe it just made her really perceptive.) “I’ve been worried all night,” she added, softly, and Peter suddenly felt really guilty. He should have at least given her a quick explanation. He _knew_ how much she worried. In all honesty, after the events of the night he’d completely forgotten about texting her.

“I’m really sorry,” he answered. He meant it.

She was quiet again. “Just, please tell me,” she finally said.

Peter frowned. He didn’t want Wanda to think Wade was unstable. But he didn’t really have a choice whether he told her. She’d figure it out either way. 

(Wanda tried not to use her power to tell her what her friends were thinking. It’s not even really mind-reading, just bits and pieces of moments, especially when strong emotions are involved. But when she’s really curious, or when someone else is feeling something strongly, she can’t help it. Peter knew that Wanda woke up often at night when someone in the tower had a particularly bad nightmare.)

“I’m at Wade’s,” Peter said, cutting her off before she could question him. “Nope, not what you think. He was drunk. He called me. I picked him up and brought him back to his house. I wanted to stay to make sure he was okay.”

“He was _drunk?_ Isn’t he like seventeen?”

“...Yeah.”

“Peter, you can’t fall in love with an alcoholic. Especially one who carries around knives,” Wanda sounded defeated, like she knew it was too late to stop him from falling in love.

“I don’t think he’s an alcoholic,” Peter said, but his voice was full of doubt. He could practically _hear_ Wanda frown. 

Her voice was sharp as a razor edged blade when she spoke. “Did he hurt you?” Peter shivered involuntarily. It was at times like these that Wanda most sounded dangerous. 

“No,” he answered quickly. “Nothing like that.”

“Good,” she said, her voice slightly more relaxed. “Is he awake?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty upset. His dad-- Well, yeah. He’s upset. I think he feels guilty too. He’s showering right now.”

“Right. Well I’m coming over.”

“What?”

“Peter. I’m sorry. But I’m not letting you keep seeing this guy who could be dangerous-- and risking your own safety to do it-- until I make sure that he’s not going to hurt you.”

“I can’t. Wanda. He’d probably feel like I was invading his privacy, letting my friend meet you. He’s super secretive. I mean, come on, I haven’t even seen his face.”

“Peter.” That was all Wanda said, but it was in that tone that meant she wasn’t going to accept no for an answer.

Peter sighed. “I’ll ask him if it’s okay. But if he says no, then no.”

“We’ll see.”

“He’s coming outside. I’ll call you back.”

“Do not dare take another nine hours.”

“I won’t.” Peter hung up, putting his phone in his pocket as Wade came out of the house/garage/thing that he apparently lived in. (It made Peter sad when he thought about Wade having to go home to it every day.) Wade was only wearing his mask, but all of his clothes were long enough that they covered his skin. He was even wearing gloves. Peter realized he’d literally never seen Wade without something covering all of him. He didn’t even know what colour his skin was. What the _heck._

“Listen, Peter, I’m so sorry. I promise this will never happen again. It was a huge mistake. I don’t usually drink, I _promise--”_

“Hey, it’s alright,” Peter said gently, before Wade could start to panic. “I believe you. I’m glad you called me.”

Wade shook his head. “No. Peter. I’m serious. I won’t ever do this again. I’m not-- I don’t usually drink.”

Peter nodded, relieved. That’s good news.

He really didn’t want to ask Wade if he could let Wanda come over. But he had to. “Listen, Wade. Please don’t freak out,” he started. Wade tensed. “My friend Wanda wants to meet you.”

“You’re going to turn me in,” Wade said quietly. “I thought-- I thought. I shouldn’t have let you come here,” his voice rose. “This whole time have you just been tricking me?”

Peter stood up and grabbed Wade’s arms before he could. Wade flinched. Peter ignored it for now, though it left a painful, sour feeling in his chest.

“Wade. I’m not turning you in to anyone, okay?” Peter gripped Wade’s arms, not painfully, but enough that he wasn’t sure he could move. “I’m not going to turn you in to anyone.”

Wade didn’t relax, but Peter moved his hand up to tilt Wade’s chin down, so he was meeting his eyes.

“Okay?”

After a moment, Wade gave him a barely perceivable nod before opening his mouth to speak. “Who- who is she? And… why?”

Peter looked down, shuffling his feet. “Wanda- she’s like my sister. I moved into the tower when my Aunt Mae died, and her when her brother did. I guess we kind of adopted each other. She was… well, she was experimented on, and she’s got, like, magic. As close to magic as you can get. Which is why she came to the tower.”

Wade had relaxed a little while Peter had talked, so Peter kept going.

“Losing- losing Pietro, and her parents, pretty much everyone she’d ever had- it makes her kind of protective, now, of her family. And when I didn’t come back last night, she kind of freaked. And she wants to meet you now because I’ve told her a lot about you?”

The last of his sentence he said in a rush, almost like a question.

Peter glanced up at Wade, who looked relieved, like he’d really thought this whole thing had been a lie. 

“Experimented on,” Wade said quietly.

“Like you,” Peter answered, because he knew it was what Wade was thinking.

“Is she okay?”

“She always says she’s as okay as she can be.” Peter wasn’t sure whether he should be telling Wade this, but he wanted Wade to know. That it could get better? That he wasn’t alone? Peter wasn’t sure. “She meets with Sam too,” he added. “He’s really helped her figure everything out.”

Wade nodded. He was being uncharacteristically quiet, but then, he’d apparently thought that the last few months had all been a lie. And the flinch. That had hurt more than Peter would admit.

Peter let go of Wade’s arms and pulled him into a hug. “I’m never going to betray you. Okay?”

Wade paused before he responded. “I would love to meet her,” he said quietly.


	32. wanda: drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda goes to pick up Peter and meet Wade. But there's something that hasn't happened in a long time, long enough that Wanda had almost forgot. She probably should have realized.
> 
> But Wade knows how to handle it.

Clint had been the first one to figure it out. To realize that Wanda wasn’t just shy and untrusting, it _hurt_ her to talk to people. Especially the others in the tower. 

He never told her that he figured it out, but she knew. She knew because in those first few months, he’d only ever talk to her for short periods of time and only ever when he was calm or happy. When he had all of his thoughts gathered.

It wasn’t _thoughts_ \-- She couldn’t read thoughts-- but she could feel memories that were tied with strong emotions. She could _feel_ the pain or sadness or fear. 

For the first few months after she’d gotten her power, she’d screamed every time someone talked to her. It _hurt._ When the guards talked to her, she could feel the pain of missing their families, she could _feel_ their fear of Strucker, and it was like knives scraping at her insides. The only person whose feelings didn’t hurt was Pietro. So she’d let him do the talking, she’d avoid everyone’s eyes and when it got bad she’d hold onto his emotions because his emotions she knew.

But then he was gone, and she had no one. And she moved into the tower and it was full of broken people, more people in pain, more people whose minds were stuck in the past, in suffering, than she’d ever met before and she could barely think just sitting alone in her room and every time someone tried to talk to her she couldn’t really pay attention because she could block out most things when she was alone but when someone made eye contact with her all of it came rushing in like a wave of red-hot lava.

She couldn’t figure out how to explain it to them. Especially when being near them was enough to make her eyes tear up. But Clint had figured it out somehow, and he must have told them not to go near her when they were especially hurting, because soon it got better. And Clint talked to her calmly, and eventually she got used to his feelings just like she’d been used to Pietro’s, and it happened in turn for everyone else in the tower after months of pulling herself through it.

And now she had a much better control over her power. For the most part she could handle being in crowds, she could block it out and she could usually be fine talking to people, (though she was still “shy” in other people’s eyes.) 

Don’t get me wrong, her power couldn’t turn off. She could still feel everyone’s emotions in the tower. (Maybe even more than that of people she’d never met before.) It’s just that at a certain point they became sort of her own. An odd way to put it-- to describe the way that they didn’t seem invasive anymore-- but for the most part, to her, it seemed that way.

But when she met someone who had that intense pain, that hurt that never really did go away, (Sam said it was PTSD that she was feeling from other people, but she felt like that didn’t fully describe it) she would sometimes slip back into that feeling from those first few months. Where everything hurt. 

And she knew that something messed up had happened to Wade. Something _really_ messed up. Sickness had been rolling off of Peter in waves last night. Not sickness like actually _sick,_ that’s not an emotion, but sickness like he might throw up because of whatever Wade had told him.

She tried to prepare herself for the inevitable, because it was inevitable that it would be at _least_ a little disconcerting. It always was, with new people, and she wanted to have her wits about her.

She pulled up to to the old run-down garage thing that must be the place, it was at the end of the road just like Peter had said it would be. She parked next to a run-down car with a license plate that said “3xp10d3”. Yep. This must be it. She walked up to the garage and knocked awkwardly on the door.

Peter answered it. He looked nervous. “Please don’t embarrass me,” he whispered, and Wanda nodded, following him in, gathering her thoughts.

Nothing could have prepared her for Wade’s mind.

It was like a bomb. Like something exploded and pieces of glass and metal flew everywhere, found their way into her heart and her mind and her stomach like needles of pain.

There was fear. 

Loneliness.

Self-hatred.

Guilt.

Hopelessness.

Despair.

If Wade’s feelings were waves, Wanda was drowning.

She vaguely registered Peter asking if she was okay. She didn’t respond. What would she say? _“No”? “No, because he’s in hell all of the fucking time”? “No, because he’s dying, every moment of every day”? “No, because he doesn’t even know what it feels like to be loved by someone”?_

She felt tears spring up in her eyes. She sat down. On the floor, because that was the nearest place and because she couldn’t. Couldn’t stand up anymore. Couldn’t handle it.

It hadn’t been this bad in...

In _so_ long. 

She could barely breathe.

So _much_ pain. 

So much.

How did he do anything? How did he go about his day, how did he talk to Peter, tell all of those jokes Peter had told her about, laughing? How did he act like it was nothing?

 

But then it was nothing. That was what it was. Nothing. He didn’t even think he _deserved_ to be loved.

Everyone had _someone._ Even Tony, who’s mind was one of the darkest she’d ever encountered, had always had _someone._

Wade had noone. Nothing. And he didn’t even _understand_ that it wasn’t normal.

Wanda pressed her palms into her closed eyes, trying to push away the throbbing pain from her head. Tears fell onto the concrete floor.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t Peter, it was bigger and it was wearing a glove. A voice that was lower than Peter’s started talking to her. 

Somehow, touching the source of all the pain didn’t make it worse. His hand on her shoulder was steady, and something about the fact that he was able to _be_ steady through all of it made her find the strength to draw a breath in.

In. Out. She listened to Wade.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “It’s all temporary. In ten minutes, you’ll feel better. In twenty, you’ll be laughing at something Peter says. In a year you won’t even remember this.”

Somehow, that was reassuring. She put her hands on the floor, feeling it under her fingertips because it was the one thing that would not move. She blinked.

Wade was… he was being calm. How? He was controlling his emotion, and all of the pain was still there but it was buried under a thick layer of calm that Wanda held onto like it was a lifeboat. 

“I’m sorry, Wanda,” he said, once he saw that she was grasping her surroundings again. “It is Wanda, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know-- I didn’t know you felt that.”

Guilt. So much guilt. He was coated in it. And fear of… of her knowing what a bad person he thought he was. She winced at all of it, and Wade must have realized he was hurting her, because the calm came down again.

“Peter’s getting you water. He says sometimes you have attacks like this.”

She looked up at him. “How do you--” her voice cracked. “How do you get through it?”

Maybe it was just her imagination, but she was pretty sure Wade’s eyes shone, like there were unshed tears in them, when he whispered so quietly that even she could barely hear, “I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dad learned Taylor Swift's Shake it Off on the banjo.
> 
> Because of course he did.


	33. peter: note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's memories of Wanda's powers, and all the times they were there for each other.
> 
> Also a plot point that was probably forgotten a long time ago. It's back. And really really important.

Peter leaned heavily against the beat-up, makeshift kitchen cabinets. He felt like curling up and sobbing— he should have known this was going to happen. He shouldn’t have forgotten Wanda’s power, he shouldn’t have forgotten the times she came to huddle with him in the middle of the night when something else in the tower was screaming at her with jagged edges of raw emotion. 

The times where they were each other’s family in the rough days and weeks and months after she lost Pietro, when the memories of Aunt May wouldn’t leave Peter alone. The times they took each other in as universe predestined brother and sister.

The times he would put his arms around her and let her cry the tears the Avengers would pretend they’d never felt on their cheeks.

The times when it felt like them against the world.

Wanda had been doing so well lately, even the currents of school didn’t much bother her. She’d been doing so well he’d forgotten.

Peter took a breath and tried to steady himself.

The one thing Wade had to show for him in his ‘house’ was the kitchen. Peter focused on that, looking around at the pushed-together tables, some stacked on top of each other in a kind of janky shelving system. They were full of cooking ingredients, fresh fruit and vegetables, pots and pans. Wade also had a little red vintage-looking refrigerator, clean stove, oven, and a sink.

Peter took a glass down from one of the shelves and went over to the sink to fill it.

He needed to calm down— him freaking out would only make Wanda feel worse. Guilt ate at her constantly, her own and other people’s. He shouldn’t add to it.

Instead Peter breathed, listening as Wade talked softly to Wanda. He couldn’t hear exactly what he said, but the sound of Wade’s voice calmed him.

Peter held onto it.

He waited one more second, then took the full glass of water with him, leaving the kitchen, and handed it to Wanda.

She was pale and shocked-looking, like someone had hollowed her out and stripped everything away. She took the glass gratefully.

“I’m okay, Peter,” Wanda said weakly, with literally no conviction.

“No, you’re not,” he insisted.

He sank down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders and motioned Wade to sit next to him, all of them squishing into the tiny beat up loveseat.

There wasn’t enough room without Wade putting his arm around Peter, so when he hesitated, Peter leaned into him. He saw Wanda actually smile at that.

Peter blushed and glared at her.

 

Peter sat beside Wanda in her bright red pick-up truck, leaning back in the seat and watching the world fly by. Crunched in his hand, he held a slip of paper.

He had gone out to Wade’s car just before they left, looking for his keys. But his spider-senses had gone into overdrive. The night before, they had seemed a little higher, a little more on edge.

When he looked into the car, they screamed from him, scraping his insides.

He had rifled through most of the car before he found it.

The slip of paper. His senses had gone quiet the moment he touched it.

He’d only read the first line before he closed it in his fist and walked numbly away.

Shit. He’d forgotten his keys.

Wanda looked over at him, feeling his mood change. Peter shook his head and cranked Hamilton up, letting it spill out of the open windows and drown everything out.

One last time, sang Washington.

One last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're gonna teach em how to say goodbye  
> say goodbye  
> you and iiiiiiiiiiiiieeeiiiii


	34. tony: nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has nightmares, and to steady his nerves, he makes a round of the tower, just to check up on everything.
> 
> As he's doing so, he looks into Peter's room, where his son is asleep, his earbuds still in. And there's a note closed in his fist...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom was using "which weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of bricks?" to prove something or something of that sort, and I just walked into the room and vaguely said, "That joke is a weight on my conscience"
> 
> i need help, man.

Tony woke up with his heart pounding through his chest.

Nightmares weren’t, say, uncommon for him- that didn’t make them any more bearable, though. At least he hadn’t woken Steve, who was snoring blissfully beside him, one hand laced through Tony’s.

Meaning he hadn’t been thrashing that much.

And that is called progress, to Tony.

But he knew he wouldn’t easily get back to sleep, after… that. So he gently pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, untangling their hands and softly padding out of their room.

He had a habit of doing this- enough that JARVIS didn’t ask where he was going, he already knew. Tony took the stairs all the way down to the bottom floor, locking and checking every door. It set him at ease to see them all shut in place, all exactly in control where they should be. The front door, the door to his lab, the first floor entrance, and on and on. 

He worked his way up every floor slowly and thoroughly, sleep fading from his eyes. JARVIS could lock every door instantly if he asked, but Tony felt safer like this. He felt like he was keeping the people he loved safer.

Steve always asked Tony to wake him up when this happened, when everything started to trickle back into his mind and he couldn’t see anything else, but there was no reason for Steve to also be losing sleep over bloodstained memories.

Although he did. It wasn’t often, much rarer than Tony’s nightmares, but sometimes Steve’s eyes would snap open and they would look wild and rabid, and then they would come into focus and that was almost worse.

Because then there was only pain and guilt, and Tony would wrap him in his arms and not ask what he was seeing because he already knew what was projected in his mind. 

The side of a metal freight car swathed in snow. 

Pristine white rolling beneath him, Bucky Barnes nowhere to be seen.

Some nights, Steve pulled Tony out of bed and they danced, rocked together in place as Steve pretended that he wasn’t crying because he had had a date. That he wasn’t crying because Peggy was going to teach him how to dance.

But maybe those nights with Tony were his rain check.

Steve didn’t need to wake up every time Tony did. He wanted to, of course he did, he was Steve. And sometimes Tony did need to shake him awake when he couldn’t get it out of his head, or sometimes when it was particularly bad JARVIS would wake Steve up to help Tony. But for the most part him being there was enough.

When Tony got to Peter’s room, he slowly pushed open the door, letting a beam of light from the hallway fall onto Peter’s face. 

His hair was sleep-mused and curling over his pillow, out of his face, and Tony could see he was asleep from his closed eyes and his steady breathing. His earbuds were still in. Seeing his son like that always made him feel safe. Secure. And he would do anything for Peter, anything. 

Seeing Peter like that helped the nightmares.

Tony looked around the room as if assuring himself everything was right where it should be- comics strewn about in almost organized stacks, clothing halfway into his dresser, and the thousand-piece LEGO sets set carefully on the shelves, the only remotely cared-about piece to the messy room.

Tony eased the earbuds out of Peter’s ears and paused The Rolling Stones he was listening to.

But then Tony spotted something-- a crumpled up piece of paper folded into Peter’s fist;

You have until the end of the month to deliver yourself to us.  
I don’t believe we have to make ourselves clearer.  
You know perfectly well who you’re dealing with here.  
You have until the end of the month.  
Do not think yourself above any harm we could do to you.

Then, in loopy, elegant handwriting;

_One month, huh? If I were you I’d enjoy it while I still could._  
_It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, darling?  
_ _I wonder whether you’ll try to run this time._


	35. steve: every time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up and finds Tony panicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tw for a panic attack. very panicky. i'll put a summary at the bottom.*
> 
>  
> 
> my friend drinks this carbonated water and its called like bubly i think? anyways the little top part of the can that you like flip to open the drink said "hiii" and it made me so happy except it fell into the can so i had to rip open the can to get it out and now it is in my pocket and has been for like four days because it cheers me up a lot so thanks bubly

“Tony,” Steve murmured drowsily, reaching over to the other side of the bed, but it was empty. Still warm. “Tony?”

He cursed quietly. Not at Tony, never at Tony— at the nightmares that kept him up night after night. 

Even though he asked, or more like insisted, Tony never woke him up. 

“JARVIS—” He didn’t get to finish the question before the voice answered.

“He is in Peter’s room, sir. He just found some sort of piece of paper in Peter’s hand, and his heart rate appears to be spiking. His breathing is getting out of control-- In fact, he seems to be showing some warning signs of a panic attack. May I suggest making sure he is okay?”

Jesus. Tony. Steve leapt out of bed and sprinted as fast as he could through the dark halls, stopping only when he was at the door to Peter’s room. He didn’t want to scare Tony into full blown panic by bursting in on him. He knocked softly, _tap tap-tap tap tap,_ to warn him, and opened the door quietly. 

Tony whipped his head around when Steve slowly padded in. His eyes were wide and crazed, and his face had lost its colour. His hands, shaking, were held up in front of him, as if to stop Steve from coming closer. There was a piece of paper clenched in one, the strength he was holding it making his knuckles turn white.

Every time. It was so bad, every time. You would think after the tenth time Steve had to see Tony like this, it would start to get better. He would start to get used to it. It didn’t. He didn’t. It fucking hurt every time just as much as the first one. 

_Why?_ What did Tony _ever_ do to deserve this pain? 

Steve didn’t step any closer. He put his hands up, staying still. “Tony. It’s me. It’s Steve.” He did his best not to look like a threat. _I want to help. Let me help._

After a minute, Tony’s face melted a bit, but it was still full of doubt, like he wouldn’t let himself trust Steve. “Hey,” Steve said gently. “I won’t hurt you.” 

Tony took half a step forward, but stopped quickly. “How--,” his voice cracked. “How do I know it’s you?”

“Remember yesterday? We went and got grilled cheese after our meetings. We threw tin foil at each other.” Tony’s face slowly lost some of its distress as he seemed to connect it. 

“So you’re not here to hurt Peter?” he whispered softly, his voice thick with tears. 

Steve couldn’t help but furrow his brow. “Of course not,” he answered, trying to keep his calm. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

It was like some sort of wall had broken. Tony stumbled forward into Steve’s arms. Steve could feel Tony’s heart pounding through the reactor. His breathing was harsh and quick through the tears that had suddenly turned to sobbing. He was limp, like if Steve let him go he would just drop to the floor. 

Steve sat down against the door with Tony in his lap. He brushed his fingers through Tony’s hair softly and rocked him quietly back and forth. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, “Whatever this is, we’re gonna figure it out. You’re not alone, yeah?” Tony always thought he was by himself. And it broke Steve’s heart every damn time.

“E’s no-n’ e’s gon e’-- n’s’ m’ fault. I sh’ pr’te c’d h. N’ now, e’s go’b’--” Sometimes Tony got like this. Where everything was feverishly muttered, where his words were so incoherent that even Steve couldn’t understand them. Steve silently squeezed Tony’s hands. Tony was rigid and unmoving, like he was frozen in place. Steve hated this more than anything and he just wanted to make it stop. He would do anything to make it stop. 

“Tony? Can you breathe with me?” 

Tony took one deep breath, but he shook his head violently, suddenly springing up out of Steve’s lap. Steve stood up too. Tony’s eyes darted around the room before landing back on Steve. His face crumpled. He wrapped his arms tightly around Steve’s chest.

“I’m scared,” Tony whimpered into Steve’s shirt. “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”

Steve hugged Tony back, gently so that he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t have any free hands to wipe away the tears trickling down his jaw and plopping softly into Tony’s hair. “Tony? Can you tell me what’s going on? I want to help, love.”

Tony pulled back and stuffed the paper into Steve’s hands. As soon as Steve had it, he went back to hugging him, harder. Steve thought he could hear a broken sob. 

He opened the paper and read it over the back of Tony’s head. 

The words pooled in his head like some sort of sludge. Peter. Peter. The day Tony and Steve had adopted him, they had agreed: No matter what, they would do everything to keep Peter safe. Despite their powers, their enemies. Tony had promised May, he’d promised. 

Steve took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. He had to stay put together. It was essential. He didn’t blame Tony in any way for how he reacted to things like this. But it meant that he had to be depended upon not to panic. Not to let the sludge cloud his vision.

“Hey. We’re gonna take a few minutes and then wake Peter up, okay?” Tony didn’t move. Steve slowly stepped back, forcing Tony to let go of him. “Let’s sit down right here.” He guided Tony to a pillow on the floor and slowly sat him down, sitting in front of him so that they could look into each other’s faces. “Why don’t you hold my hands?”

Tony grasped Steve’s hands tightly. Even with Steve’s super strength, it hurt. He knew Tony didn’t realize. 

“Alright. Alright, copy my breaths?” Tony nodded. It was more like a jerk of the head, but it was a start.

Steve breathed deeply, smiling as best he could and nodding encouragingly when Tony did it too.

Slowly, slowly, Tony started to improve. Fifteen minutes passed before Tony’s cheeks started to regain a little colour, and his sobbing dulled down to a few tears. Steve had put the note carefully in his back pocket. 

“Alright,” Steve eventually whispered, “Do you want to talk to Peter about this now, or in the morning?”

“Can’t wait,” Tony answered, his voice only trembling slightly.

“Okay. Let’s try and be calm with him, yeah?”

Tony nodded. Steve walked to Peter’s bed and gently shook him awake. Peter groaned. “What s’ it?” he asked, half-asleep.

“We have to talk to you. Can you get up?”

Peter nodded. He shifted to a sitting position before suddenly seeming to realize he was no longer holding the note. “Where’s—” He looked around feverishly, suddenly wide awake. He went pale when he saw Steve holding it. “Shit. Shit shit. You found it. No-- Dad. It’s not what you think.”

Steve turned to Tony. “I need to talk to Peter for a minute. Do you think you can wait in the hall?” Tony looked hesitant, but eventually he nodded. He closed the door behind him, but Steve knew he was listening for any sound of a commotion.

“Peter,” Steve whispered, “Tony just had a _really_ bad panic attack when he found this.” 

Peter’s face was pure guilt and pain. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I know,” Steve said gently. “But he’s in a really bad state right now. He’s terrified. Just please, please tell us the truth. We want to help you.”

Peter bit his lip. He nodded.

Steve smiled softly. “We’ll figure this out?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up in the middle of the night. JARVIS alerts him that Tony is panicking. Steve goes to Peter's room to find him, and once he calms Tony down, Tony shows him the note. Steve wakes Peter up and asks him to please tell the truth.


	36. peter: family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter talks to his dads about a certain note.
> 
> And the importance of family.

Peter raked his hands through his hair, forcing himself to breathe.

Steve had looked calm, put together— Peter knew it was only years and years of being Captain America that held him at the seams. 

And Tony- Tony wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t want Peter around someone like Wade, he wouldn’t _let_ Peter—

Peter gripped the back of his desk chair, staring down at his dark phone.

He should have asked Wade about the note.

The edge of the desk chair crumpled inside Peter’s drawn fists, but he didn’t realize it. 

Steve knocked on the edge of his open door, peering in. He looked so tired, and Peter remembered it was the middle of the night… Tony-- Tony had been having nightmares, hadn’t he? 

Steve tilted his head in a kind of gesture for Peter to follow him, and Peter, after a moment, did.

It felt like a million miles down the stairs.

Tony leaned against the kitchen island with his head in his hands. He didn’t look up when Peter entered. Instead, he pushed the slip of paper across the countertop, and spoke very nearly calmly, if you looked past the white knuckles and the shaking and the shallow breathing.

“What is this, Peter?”

“It’s not what you think, I’m not in danger, at all, I promise, I can explain—“

Tony looked up at him, and Peter could clearly see the lines in his face, his eyes rimmed in red.

“Then explain.”

Peter took a breath as deep as his rattled lungs would allow, though it felt like air had edged away from him, and oblivion was closing in.

“It’s— his name is Wade. He’s, well, he’s been my friend for a while now, we started to do patrol together—“

“So he’s a vigilante.”

It was a statement, not a question. Peter hesitated, not really thinking as he twisted the fabric of his shirt.

“Sort of.”

“Who?”

Peter made himself meet Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t hold them.

“Deadpool.”

Tony turned pale as a ghost caked in white face paint wearing a freshly-bought sheet. He didn’t speak for a moment, and Steve moved to put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, probably in an attempt to support them both.

_“Did he threaten you with this?”_

The words felt like a punch to the gut, and Peter nearly growled at Steve.

“No. _Never._ ”

“Well then _explain_ ,” Tony’s voice was getting louder now, and the only reason Peter couldn’t see the fear in his face was tears blurring everything out. “Because SO FAR all you’ve SAID is YOU’VE MADE _FRIENDS_ WITH _DEADPOOL_. After being confronted with a FUCKING RANSOM NOTE, PETER, WH—“ He let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his voice breaking. “What did you _think_ I was going to assume?”

Peter didn’t answer right away, his eyes dragging around the kitchen. “It-it set off my senses. I found it in his car yesterday, I didn’t get a chance to ask him about it. I think— he’s in danger.”

“He’s _Deadpool_ ,” Tony said bitterly, “What kind of danger could he be in? And you can’t— you don’t have to—“

“What, try to help? That’s what I do, I _help people._ Friendly _fucking_ neighborhood Spiderman, right?”

“Peter,” Steve interrupted warningly, tightening his grip on Tony’s shoulder.

Peter laughed humorlessly. “I thought maybe you of all people might actually get that when you can help, and then everything goes to shit… it’s— I thought you might get that at some point friends become family, and family is something you do anything for.”

“And this, Peter--” 

Peter ignored Steve, cutting him off. Peter kept talking, maybe yelling, too, he wasn’t sure anymore. “And-and did you read that note? Even if he wasn’t my- my friend, if he was anyone else it’d just be another day. It’d just--”

“This is _DEADPOOL,_ PETER. I thought I could trust you, to- to be, I don’t know, responsible? I let you be Spiderman, I trust you to do that and these are the people you’re doing it with?” He shook his head, not looking at Peter.

Peter opened his mouth to argue.

“You’re not doing patrol anymore. And you’re not going to see _Deadpool_.” Tony spat his name.

“Tony-” Tony looked up at Steve, and after a moment, Steve nodded.

Peter’s breathing was shaky, his knuckles white at his sides. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Tony’s voice, biting and quiet, a threat hanging in the charged air.

“Don’t make me have Karen track your suit.”

Peter looked up into their faces for a moment, then stood.

“Family is something you do anything for,” was all he said. Then he walked out of the room. He didn’t hear Tony say softly to the air, 

“Exactly, Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I know this fic is goin kinda slow right now, but I wanted to know how you think it's going? Any suggestions? Anything you want to see? Critiques?
> 
> Anyways thanks yall <3
> 
> I'm excited to see what you all think of the chapters coming soooon.


	37. wade: therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade goes to therapy for the first time. The voices have opinions, and the authors just want what's best for Wade. Wade is skeptical, but Sam thinks he can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops, this is a little bit late-- sorry about that. also, disclaimer! we have no idea how to conduct a therapy session. we're doing our best to make it realistic and suited to wade's specific needs and such. 
> 
> hope you like it though, and thank you, as always, for reading <3

Wade’s hands were sweaty. He tried to adjust his gloves, but it didn’t help. 

The room where he was waiting was far too clean and he hated it. There were a couple weirdly comfortable couches and some chairs, and the colours complimented each other (and even the rug.) There were a few little tables with boring science magazines. And by the door was a box of snacks, like granola bars and candy and stuff.

[It’s coordinated in a suspicious way.]

{Well at least there’s food. We’re hungry, Wade, take one.}

_They could be poisoned… Or something. I don’t trust this place._

{You trust Peter.}

_Obviously._

{Peter trusts this place.}

_Stop being logical, Yellow, I hate it._

Wade was sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes darting around. There was only one way out, through the door he’d come through. There was another door, which presumably led into an office or something. (But this was a full waiting room, so the door must lead into a hallway of multiple offices.) 

Wade was glad it was after hours or whatever, so noone else was in the waiting room. Sam apparently therapy-d his “special” (superpower-y) patients when the office was closed, so that no normal people would get freaked out.

Wade wasn’t sure about this “Sam” dude. He seemed fishy. A veteran who just so happened to have robot wings? And he was part of the Avengers but also a therapist? Seems random?

-Wade, you’re seriously overthinking this. You’re overthinking this so much my writing style is becoming super uncertain sounding.-

_Joke’s on you, I’m too busy overthinking this to care._

This is gonna be good for you, Wade. You did feel better after talking to Peter.

_He’s_ Peter. 

Wade jumped when the door opened. He immediately took analysis: A man, just under 6 feet, depended mostly on arm strength for fighting, could run far but not very fast, 

-I’m gonna cut you off here for your sake and my sake, because you’re gonna start freaking out and I don’t know how to analyze someone. Thank me later.-

“Hello, Wade. I’m Sam.”

Wade blinked, trying to ignore every part of him that was screaming either _run away_ or _attack him before he attacks you_ which was every part of him, because that had pretty much been a completely reliable rule to follow so far in his life. Somehow he had a feeling that it might be the wrong approach.

“I’m— uh, well, you know.”

Sam smiled. “Would you like to come in?” He asked, and Wade followed Sam through the door, down a hallway and into an office. 

The office was almost _worse_ than the waiting room. A couch against the far wall, with two pillows on either side all fluffed up professionally looking, and a chair with a little table with a computer on it. There was a weird clock on a table on the side of the room, with a painting that looked altogether _too_ abstract. (The colour scheme was coordinated, but _bad_ coordinated. Like sure these colours go together, but they’re both hideous.) 

There was another door by the couch. Sam opened it slightly, letting Wade see out, before closing it again. It led to the place outside the waiting room. So, an easy escape route. And unlocked. Did he just show Wade that on purpose? Was he trying to make him feel less on edge?

Sam sat in the chair, and Wade sat on the couch facing him. 

“So, usually I’d start our first session with a bunch of paperwork, but obviously this case is different,” Sam said. Peter had told Wade earlier that Sam had agreed to help him without any payment. Which was good, because Wade knew he was going to be low on money soon, what with the whole not-currently-murdering-people thing. “From what Peter said, it sounds like you don’t have any sort of medical record. Are you currently taking any medication?” 

Wade shook his head. Sam made a note and looked back at Wade. “Okay. The first thing I want to tell you is that everything we say in this room will be completely confidential. I won’t tell anyone anything you say unless you plan to hurt yourself or others.”

Wade nodded. He knew Sam knew he was… (used to be?) a mercenary. 

“Including Peter,” Sam added. Wade sincerely doubted he was going to tell Sam much of anything personal, so he doubted that would matter, but whatever.

“What do you want to get out of talking to me?”

Wade blinked. 

[a sense of humanity]

{wow that was dark}

[yeah that’s kind of my job bitch get with the times]

_Shut up._

Sam waited quietly, looking what seemed to Wade to be straight through his mask.

“I don’t know, I guess. I’m kind of…”

“Kind of…?”

“I’m kind of just here for Peter.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah… a lot of people I see don’t start by coming here for themselves. But you are here, so I’m going to do my best to help you.”

Sam fixed him with the same Therapist Seeing Through Your Soul tm gaze.

“What do you feel might be wrong in your life? Anything at all.”

Wade nearly laughed. “What isn’t?”

Sam made a note. “What about Peter?”

“Peter isn’t wrong,” Wade said quickly, almost defensively. He blushed under his mask.

[in our life? He doesn’t fit. That’s what’s wrong]

Sam nodded, not at White. “I didn’t mean that he was.” Wade tried to find any note of his voice that was teasing. He couldn’t. “You’ve met Wanda, too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She could feel your emotions?”

“...really strongly.”

Sam nodded again, like he was just confirming what he already knew. “Peter told me your story, right, he told you that?”

Wade nodded.

“It’s because he cares about you. He cares about you a lot, you know.” Sam gave a little half smile, even though Wade wasn’t looking at him.

Wade didn’t answer.

“Peter said you told him you have trouble not thinking about your trauma. Could you tell me about it?”

Wade was pretty sure it didn’t matter if he told the truth. Sam already knew he was fucked up. “I dunno, like I just think about it… a lot,” he said lamely. Sam just sat there looking at him. It made Wade feel defensive. “Like, things remind me of it I guess? And I have a lot of nightmares. And sometimes I’m just, like, not doing anything and then suddenly I just start thinking about it and I can’t stop. And sometimes it sort of feels like I’m there again, even though I can’t be, and like… Yeah. I don’t-- That’s not normal, right?”

Sam looked so damn _calm._ It was _infuriating._ “Many people who experience trauma can develop symptoms like you’re describing. It’s possible to make it so you experience them less, and less badly.”

For the first time, Wade was interested. “You’re saying I could stop them?”

“I’m saying you could certainly reduce them, over time.”

“How? I need to know how,” Wade said urgently.

“It takes time and effort to work through stuff like this. And it won’t necessarily have a huge impact immediately. But there are skills you can develop that lessen traumatic stress symptoms. I recommend you stick with therapy. I think it’ll work for you.”

Wade blinked. “You are saying if I keep meeting in this room with you I’ll be able to stop thinking about it,” he couldn’t keep the skepticalness out of his voice.

“I think that I can help you try to improve your day-to-day mental health, yes.”

Wade took a deep breath.

“Okay.”


	38. peter: silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's school day after his fight with Tony and Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I just got my drawing markers in the mail and they're so pretty and rainbow and I'm so happy about it <3

Peter woke up that morning with darkness in his soul.

It was almost a haze, like he was a ghost walking through the story that was his everyday. He moved only out of habit, and if he’d thought to think, he might wonder whether he remembered everything.

He didn’t see Tony that morning.

Peter didn’t say a word that morning. The silence around him was too, too heavy for that. It would take too much effort to break through it, that’s how it felt. Thick like fog, breath dissipating and joining the greyness.

Peter got on the bus, but today without his earbuds in. He wanted to listen, today, and he heard, through the heavy heavy silence, whispering tram breaks and the calm lady who spoke over them who was strong enough to pierce it.

He listened for anything that might tell him that he was right. That Tony really _didn’t_ understand. That they _weren’t_ just trying to keep him safe.

Peter made it through the morning, staring at his blank phone. The bells rang through his bones. 

He wanted to text Wade.

He wanted to text _Tony._

Instead, he let Wanda hug him and give him half of her leftover Chinese takeout for lunch.

The Lo Mein was delicious. 

The rest of it all blurred, the colors and sounds becoming a nauseating cacophony that burned Peter’s senses. By 6th period, it was too much. He excused himself, unsure whether he was coherent.

As he stumbled through the hallway to the bathroom, the words kept playing through his mind.

_It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, darling?_

Oh. Shit. Wade had therapy today, didn’t he?

And he didn’t know any of this. He didn’t know Peter couldn’t… 

_I wonder if you’ll run this time._

Peter slammed the bathroom stall door and sank to the floor against it. He took out his phone. He scrolled until he found Wade’s number. He pressed call.

For a moment, it was silent all around him. 

The door was digging into his back, and the floor was absolutely filthy. But it was silent. And for the first time that day, silent was nice.

Then it was broken softly by the ringing of the phone on the other side. It rang for forever. Then the sound was broken by the bored-sounding auto-reply.

 _“Please speak after the tone,”_ she said, and Peter made himself breathe.

_Beeeeep._

“Hi, Wade. It’s— it’s Peter.” He swallowed, picking at a seam on his hoodie sleeve. “I’ve just— I want to talk to you, later, maybe? I know you’re meeting with Sam right now. How’s it going? Are you okay?”

He paused, as though Wade might answer.

“Anyways, I— yeah, I need to talk to you. Tony and Steve know I’ve— we’ve been hanging out. I’m not allowed to do patrol now. It was— they found out last night. And, the way they found out… just, I need to talk to you, okay?”

Peter closed his eyes, not quite knowing what else to say.

“Call me when you can,” is what he settled for.

He let out a heavy breath.


	39. wade: longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade goes to visit Peter after hearing his voicemail.
> 
> On his way home, he gets the full gist of what he might really be dealing with when it comes to the note.
> 
> I really can’t do summaries, as evident throughout this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s quite a bit longer than usual, and also posted a day late. Thank you for waiting, and I hope that the amount of plot in this chapter makes up for it taking a bit.
> 
> Enjoy!

Wade stood on a beam outside of Peter’s window. The street looked far below him, people and cars blurred into the reality of another world.

He knocked lightly on the glass.

Peter’s face appeared, and he spoke, then waited for a moment. Wade couldn’t hear what he said, but then the window opened, glass sliding out of sight mechanically.

“Hi.”

Peter didn’t look like he knew what to say, but he said, “hi.” Then, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Wade asked softly.

There was silence.

[what the fuck did you do]

{we didn’t do anything peters the one apologizing}

[peter never needs to apologize we must have done something wrong]

“I found the note in your car.”

Wade froze. Then he made himself relax, he made his voice calm. “It’s okay, Pete.”

“No, no it’s not?” It sounded like a question, and Peter’s eyes looked far away and also too focused. “It’s not okay, that’s not—“

“Peter- Peter, calm down, it’s okay, it- it happens all the time, it’s normal, for someone… for someone who did what I… did. It usually doesn’t mean anything.”

_“Usually?”_

“When it’s not, a guy comes by and I threaten them with my katana and my devilishly good looks and maybe offer them some pie.”

For some reason, this seemed to make Peter feel better. But then he leaned closer to the window and looked into Wade’s face.

“I took it home, and Tony found it, and he and Steve, they said I couldn’t see you anymore.”

Wade had heard Peter’s voicemail, but he hadn’t really _heard._ He’d just rushed over at once, his voices screaming in his head.

“So they know…”

“I told them I’d been doing patrol with you, and they basically grounded me, I’m sorry, I-I can’t—“

Wade half reached through the open window, like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed. Peter just stepped forward and hugged him, leaning through the window.

“...how was therapy?”

Wade breathed a laugh, ever so slightly. 

“It was okay.”

“Are you just saying that, or was it actually okay?”

Wade tightened his arms around Peter. “I’m not sure,”

“You think you’ll go back?”

“...yeah.”

Peter nodded against his chest, but he didn’t speak for a bit.

“Are you okay?” Wade whispered.

Peter nodded again, and he drew back a bit.

Wade didn’t want him to let go.

[obviously]

Yes I still have to write it though jeez

There was a knock at Peter’s door, and the two of them basically lept apart.

“Peter?” The voice called. “Can… can I come in?”

“It’s Steve,” Peter hissed. “You- you have to go. I’ll text you later, okay?”

Wade nodded.

—-

[you lied to him.]

{yes, you did. That note _is_ a big deal}

“Yeah, I know, okay?”

[of course it’s a big deal, it’s from fucking—]

“Shut up,” Wade said, and he sounded so exhausted that the voices did.

He ran, slipping in and out of shadows and vaulting buildings until he ran out of them to vault, and he sprinted on the concrete edges of the highway.

He went on like that for a while, before slowing to catch his breath. He looked down, and the man in front of him looked like he appeared out of thin air. 

He might have been silent, but Wade couldn’t tell, not over the rumble of engines and the static fullness of the wind whistling past him.

The man was around 6 foot, fit, with dark rope-like coils of hair hanging down to his shoulders. Wade couldn’t really see any of his skin, apart from a thin band around his eyes.

{His eyes are empty}

[they look dead]

Wade agreed.

The rest of him was entirely covered with black material, almost rags layered atop each other, except for his left arm. It was gleaming metal, set so perfectly and twitching with every movement the man made, that it looked real.

It looked like a part of him.

The two of them stood on the edges of layered highways, Wade looking down at the man.

Traffic rushed around them, and Wade felt like he was in the eye of a hurricane, just for a moment.

Then he was pulled into the storm, and the man lept upwards, straight at him. Wade blocked out of instinct, bringing his arms up to shield his face as he kept his balance on the edge of the highway.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said as cheerfully as he could manage, his voice not in the least bit strained as the man advanced on him, kicking high and low, punching and swiping at him.

Wade could tell he was only feeling out his skill, testing the boundaries. He played along, easily blocking every blow and trying to gage the man’s expression. The only problem was he didn’t have one.

The man’s eyes would move, sure, but his breathing never really sped up and his whole face looked glossed over, like it was frozen in ice. Wade didn’t let anything show on _his_ face, either. He wanted to know who this man was.

His left arm came up to grasp Wade’s wrist, and Wade let him.

[sure we did]

His grip was like steel. Except, forget the ‘like’ because it probably was, a full arm seamlessly built as if by Mother Nature herself. The metal dug into his wrist, and Wade found he couldn’t move.

{Um, authors? A little help?}

[we don’t need help yet, asshat]

The Man With No Soul snapped his wrist and Wade couldn’t help but wince. At the same time, a car rushed by, window open.

“GET OFF THE HIGHWAY,” a young woman’s voice screeched, entirely unaware that they were fighting, the unobservant blithering dolt.

Nonetheless, Wade pulled his wrist free with the slight distraction of the woman easing the man’s grip, and jauntily saluted her, letting himself fall right off the side of the concrete.

He landed rather easily, though in the middle of a car lane, on top of a car, because cinematography. The car bobbed under his weight, and Wade leaned forward to see who was driving.

It was a little old man who did not seem to notice he was there, and had pegged the bobbing of the car up to pigeons. Many, many pigeons. He was rather happy to have them, and, unaware of the rest of the world, he slowed his driving so as to accommodate them.

Wade sat for a moment, holding his wrist relatively in place as it healed. “So that’s what I’m facing in terms of the people with the note?” He asked the air. 

{Well, he asked the authors}

Hush let me do my job.

-I mean that’s kind of what you’re facing-

“Kind of?”

-kind of-

Then the man dropped out of the sky, landing in front of Wade heavily, his arms up in a blocking position and his steps never once faltering.

The car wheels should have popped clear off the vehicle, and the roof should have been crushed entirely beneath the man’s landing. 

However, that didn’t happen, the roof only bending ever so slightly as the author rather liked the little old man, and he was going to his granddaughter’s birthday. 

He would not miss that, not if the authors had anything to do with it.

 _Pigeons_ , the little old man thought as he shrugged. _What can you do?_

The soulless man swung hard at Wade, so he rolled, off the car and into the middle of the street. Car horns blared at him, and the inhabitants of the highway began to panic, because two masked, movie-level costumed people rolling all over the street with strangely perfect fighting technique usually meant everything would go wrong.

After a while in New York City, you start to see the signs.

The man followed, you know, like they weren’t in the middle of a busy highway. As he threw punches and kicks, Wade was impressed to see that he didn’t favor his left arm.

{you think it has anything to do with the face that his eyes are emotionless perhaps}

Why thank you Yellow, yes I was just about to make that apparent.

[uh huh how so]

-Call him Bucky. That was his name.-

“Was?”

-oops-

“Pardon me, sire, Mr. Bucky—“

 _Bucky,_ if that was his true name, did not respond, other than to punch a concrete pillar to the right of Wade’s head. His eyes did not change, and Wade saw no recognition in him.

“—but I’d rather not be here, if you please, as in I’d like to be going.”

Wade tried to duck under one of his arms, but the man, Bucky, hit him square across the jaw, and Wade saw like one single star before his vision returned, along with a returned punch.

He used the moment to slip away, and was about to run when the man gripped the back of his mask. Wade pulled on it, trying to keep it down over his face.

Finally, he decided to use his katana.

{why didn’t you use them before???}

“The author forgot,” he replied through clenched teeth, swinging the blades around. They met metal with a resounding _clang._

Half the people on the highway nearly died from fright.

Having let go of his mask, the man pulled it off Wade’s head.

The light was so much.

The air was so much.

His hands came up to his face, but he couldn’t touch it.

He couldn’t move.

But then he had to, because the man had grabbed the blade of his katana, and car horns were screaming at him, and he had to leave.

He twisted, facing the man.

He didn’t react to Wade’s face, not in the slightest. That was when Wade was certain he wasn’t really there. He wasn’t human, or just another person angry at _Deadpool._

Wade was certain, when his eyes didn’t flicker with disgust, and he didn’t shrink away out of fear, and his mouth didn’t turn up into an _awful fucking smirk_ , that this man worked for _them._

Wade knew what it was like to not own your own mind. He supposed that might be how this man was, too.

Wade, tell him _Желание._

-No, you can’t-

Let him.

There was silence for what felt like hours.

-We’re really doing anything to further the plot now aren’t we-

“Желание,” Wade said, his voice catching on the sound of the word.

The man froze.

His eyes flashed with something distinctly not human, and he shuddered. Then he screamed, his voice ripping itself out of his throat, clawing from him like a monster.

Wade ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter like I was running from Satan and you know I’m not sure if he caught me.


	40. dying stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fight in the highway, we see how the Winter Soldier is doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s been awhile. Sorry about that— life just kind of hit with homework and blehh so we weren’t able to write. Still, thank you so much for the kudos and the hits every time I see them my brain nearly short circuits it’s insane :)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

The world flickered.

His vision morphed, it stretched and twisted into… what? He didn’t know.

He felt something cold and smooth beneath his human hand, metal piping, sending shoots of feeling up his arm.

It grounded him, slightly.

But his vision was making him feel… sick, that was the word. Sick. So he closed his eyes, and he tried to remember.

Anything.

Anything at all.

The first thing that came to him was a name. _The Winter Soldier._ But that… that didn’t sound right, did it?

...Did it?

The second was a word, maybe, but it almost held too much to just be that.

_Buck._

Someone was calling him. Except— that wasn’t him either, right? He didn’t know who he was asking.

A sharp pain dug into his side, and his eyes flashed open. He could see now, blurily. Blinding lights scalded him, but he kept his eyes open. 

“Soldier,” A rough voice said, a prompt. He didn’t react. He wasn’t…

What?

Then a flat palm crossed his face, and he might have flinched, and he might have not. He felt the pain creep over him.

“Why won’t it answer? Doctor, report,” repeated the voice, and he tried to drag his eyes up to look at where it came from, but everything felt too heavy.

“The… new specimen…” This voice was higher, drawing out words lazily.

“I said _report._ ”

“The new specimen used one of the words,” he sounded almost awed.

There was silence.

“ _What did you do?_ ” It was barely a question, more an accusation than anything.

“I— Nothing, sir. The specimen was near beat, and our Soldier froze.”

“Just froze?”

“...Then screamed.”

“In the middle of the highway?”

“Yes. Sir,” He added. “We had to drug him to get him back.”

“But there were witnesses.”

“This is New York, sir, it’s hardly unusual.”

After a pause, the deeper voice spoke again, with clipped sounding letters.

“The specimen said the word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And how did he come to know these words, Doctor?”

“I do not know, sir.” 

“And what else do you not know that may devastate this mission?”

There was no answer.

Now the deeper voice addressed him, “Soldier, report your memories.”

His head had fallen to the side, and he found it too hard to lift. 

“He won’t answer to that sir, not in this condition.”

“This condition,” The other voice repeated. “Yes, a condition indeed.”

After a moment, someone jerked his head up by the chin. It was a thin man, and a thin hand that held his jaw.

“Does he remember anything?”

“Likely his memories are all mixed from his time here and otherwise.”

“You didn’t erase the old ones?”

“No, sir, that’s how we tether him. Without memories, there is rather nothing to tether.”

“So it is possible in the future he could remember this?”

“—I suppose, sir, if he escaped the serum.”

Another man came into his view, the one with the low voice. His hair was thin, and there was malice in his smile. That’s all he took note of.

Then a fist was raised, brass knuckles glinting in the deathly light, and he knew perfectly, for the first time in a long time, what was happening.

“If he ever manages to escape it,” The man said crisply, “I would like for him to have something to remember, if you will.”

Then the fist hit him squarely in the nose, metal ripping flesh.

Dying stars sat behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they looked beautiful.


	41. steve: :(

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has no idea how long it's been since Tony slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guysss
> 
> So it has been quite a while since we updated and I feel very terrible about that things have been very crazy with homework and family and anxiety and such and it makes it really hard to get into the headspace to write. However we will never abandon this fanfic no matter how long it's been since we've updated so do not worry about that. <3

The space beside Steve was empty again. Tony hadn’t slept a full night all week. Steve wasn’t even sure if he’d slept for more than thirty minutes at a time-- he was slipping back into his old habits.

Tony and Peter hadn’t had a fight this bad for a few years at least. And they hadn’t talked at all since that night. 

Steve had tried to talk to Peter a few times, to reason with him, but Peter was so angry with them. Steve couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen Peter this angry for this long.

Steve wished Peter could try and see their point of view. They couldn’t let him be “friends” with _Deadpool._ That just wasn’t… how in the world could Peter not see how bad that was? It was their job to keep him safe. And they’d do that, even if Peter wouldn’t accept why.

But even so, this fight couldn’t go on any longer. Peter was hiding in his room every afternoon. He was barely even hanging out with his friends. 

And then Tony wasn’t sleeping, he was barely eating, and he was staying in his lab for whole days at a time. And Steve felt like shit. He missed his husband, he missed his son, and he was going to go fucking insane.

Steve swung out of bed. He wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep anyways, the room felt too desolate and his brain would not stop pounding in his head. 

He quietly made his way out of the door and through the hallway, poking his head into the doorway to Peter’s room. Peter was sleeping soundly. There were clothes piled everywhere on the floor. His homework was scattered across his desk. A glass of water had spilled on one of his books. Steve picked it up without thinking, just doing it out of habit.

He walked to the kitchen and started trying to dry off the book. He put some water on for tea and sighed. 

Steve was pretty sure he knew where Tony had gone; after all, he coped by setting his mind to work, purely to drown out everything else.

Tony was good at drowning things out by now.

The tea kettle started to whistle. 

He didn’t make tea with caffeine. Steve wasn’t about to let Tony have that at two in the morning.

With two cups of pomegranate white tea (hush it was his favorite), he tiredly made his way down the stairs, until he could see Tony through the glass, leaning over one of the tables in his lab.

Jesus, he looked awful. His arms were braced against the table, his back hunched over and his head down. His shoulders were trembling as he feverishly worked. Steve knocked softly on the door, but Tony didn’t move. Steve opened the door and stepped in. Tony still didn’t notice him.

“Tony…?” Steve said gently. Tony’s head turned immediately. The strength of the movement seemed to hurt him, and he pressed his hands into his forehead. 

“Am I hallucinating? JARVIS, am I hallucinating?”

“You are not hallucinating. Steve is really in front of you,” JARVIS replied.

Tony looked up at Steve and Steve gestured at the mugs he was holding. “I made tea,” he said, but before he could finish talking Tony dissolved into tears. Steve set the mugs down on the closest clear-ish surface he could find and wrapped his arms around Tony, letting him lean into him. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony choked out through the tears. “I know you hate it when I get like this.”

Steve rubbed Tony’s back. “I don’t like when you’re suffering.”

“I really shouldn’t have yelled at Peter,” Tony whispered, his eyes pained. “I don’t-- I try-- I don’t ever want to make him feel like that. I just couldn’t-- I got--”

“Scared?” Steve suggested. Tony nodded. Steve wiped away Tony’s tears. “Me too. I was fucking terrified. I’m still terrified.”

“We can’t-- I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep him safe anymore.”

“We can try our best.” Steve looked behind him and gently asked, “what were you building?”

Tony gestured to his work table, looking down. Peter’s confiscated suit was laid out with tools all around it. “I’ve been working on improvements,” Tony explained quietly. It was one way he could keep his son safe even when he couldn’t be around.

Suddenly he gasped, grabbing his head.

“Are you--”

“I’m fine, just a headache,” Tony said quickly.

“Actually, you are showing symptoms of extreme--”

“Shut up, JARVIS,” Tony snapped. “I’m fine.”

Steve gave Tony a concerned look. “You need to sit down.”

“No I don’t,” Tony said, but Steve was already leading him over to the couch. Tony didn’t fight him. 

The circles under his eyes were more obvious when Steve could look at them properly. His entire face was shadowed. He looked haunted.

“Jesus, Tony, how long has it been since you slept?”

Tony shook his head. “When I try to fall asleep I just think more. I don’t want to think more.”

Steve remembered Tony saying something exactly like that years ago when they had just met. Tony seemed to remember it too, and he winced slightly. 

Steve got the tea and sat down next to Tony, handing him a mug. Tony tried to drink some, but he tilted the mug too much and spilled a little on the floor. Steve took the mug. “You can’t just not sleep, Tony,” he said softly.

“How am I gonna say sorry to Peter? I shouldn’t have yelled at him but we can’t let him be near _Deadpool.”_

“We’re going to talk about this in the morning. First you need to sleep.” 

A tear rolled down Tony’s face. He didn’t seem to notice it. “I just don’t think I have enough strength to deal with a nightmare right now,” he said quietly. “If I have one I’m afraid I won’t be able to get out of it.”

Steve wasn’t sure how to respond. “I can’t force you to sleep, but if you have one, I’ll be here. You know I’ll be here.”

Tony leaned against Steve. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“Right. I’m going to talk then, and you can rest. And if you fall asleep that’s great, and if you don’t at least your mind will have a chance to slow down, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony said softly. So Steve lifted him up, bridal style, and carried him out of his lab, talking to him softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year y’all!!! <3<3
> 
> Do you have any resolutions? Do you still do resolutions?? I wanna know. :)


	42. wanda: pomegranate white tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda goes to figure out why Peter's been feeling down this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aren't midterms so much fun
> 
> anyhow! Dude I'm so tired right now like it's 9:30 but it feels like I've been awake so long i've escaped all real definitions of time or at least it's like two am u know
> 
> okay but actually we've been phenomenally bad at posting regularly lately, I'm really sorry about that :/ we're trying!! At least I have a somewhat longer chapter for you wonderful people today, and I really hope you like it :)

Wanda felt as his presence as soon as she got to the tower. Peter’s emotions were loud, usually, and she tended to tune herself to them like a radio to a newsline without thinking. 

He was an optimistic person; hope burned through him always, a humming of belief so strong that Wanda was almost sure people without her ability could feel it too. She relied on his optimism, she realized this week.

Because the last few days he had been a beacon of dejection, so overwhelming that Wanda almost hadn’t recognized the feelings as his. He hadn’t told her what had happened, and he hadn’t told anyone else, not that she knew.

But she was pretty sure it had something to do with Steve and Tony, because she could tell that Tony was staying up at night, and Steve was so worried and exhausted that it made her want to collapse.

She’d been out after school, and had come back already exhausted, so when she entered the tower that afternoon, Peter’s emotions hit her like a wall.

They were louder here, at his home, like most people’s emotions were; more things to see and trigger memories, more nests of feeling shaken off when you go out, only to be enveloped by again when you get back, and the like.

She made herself tea before she went up to Peter’s room, partly for herself and partly for him. Pomegranate White tea-- Steve’s favorite.

When she reached Peter’s closed door, she kind of just kicked it to knock, because she held a dangerously full mug in each hand.

She felt Peter’s panic spike through the depressiveness, along with a twinge of confusion.

“It’s Wanda,” she called softly.

“Oh,” he said, and the panic shifted into… quiet. Numbness.

She didn’t ask if she could come in. She just kind of did, using her magic to twist the doorknob.

“I brought you tea,” she set one mug on his desk, which he sat at, his face buried in his hands and his elbows on different stacks of papers. He didn’t look up, but he muttered,

“Thanks.”

Wanda sank down onto his bed, looking around the room. Dirty plates were in somewhat stacks around the room, and most of his clothing was strewn about, with a thin pathway plowed straight through, leading from his doorway to his desk. Wanda closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.

Peter’s emotions were almost drowning her.

“So,” she began, “you’re not okay.” There was no point asking whether he was. Even if she didn’t have her power, she could tell. “You’ve been having JARVIS get food up to your room.”

“No,” he responded. “Well, not really. I just ask him if Tony or Steve are in the kitchen, and go when they aren’t.”

He said it factually, but there was an element of exhaustion in his voice. Both emotional and physical exhaustion, and Wanda felt like the only reason he wasn’t crying was that he was too tired for it.

“What happened?” she asked softly. For a second, Peter didn’t answer, and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her, and there were twin streaks of tears running down his face now. Wanda revised her previous thought; he wasn’t too tired to cry, he was just barely holding himself together.

No wonder school was a nightmare for him this week.

Wanda patted the space on the bed next to her, and Peter basically got up from his desk chair and collapsed into the space. She put her arm around him, and he melted into her side. All at once, she felt like she was almost with Pietro again.

She shook the feeling off, and took a deep breath.

“What happened?” she asked again, and this time Peter took a deep breath before speaking.

“Tony and Steve found out I was-- doing patrol with Wade.”

“Shit--”

“Yep. Shit.”

“How’d they find out?”

Peter closed his eyes.

“Pete,” she prompted.

“He got a… a ransom note-threat thing. I found it in his car, the morning you picked me up, and I, like, freaked out.”

“A ransom note? A fucking _ransom note?_ ” She could feel some emotion in Peter rising when she said that, so she went quiet again, and let him talk.

“Yeah, and I took it back-- back here with me. Tony was… having nightmares, I think, and he checked on me, and found the note. He and Steve woke me up, and… I had to tell them where it came from, ‘cause they-- they thought it was meant for me.”

“Peter,” was all she said, and he continued, tears dripping from his eyelashes. Wanda used her magic to pull his mug of tea from his desk without getting up. She handed it to him as he talked.

“So I told them, I was doing patrol with Deadpool.”

“And so they flipped out?”

“So they flipped out,” Peter agreed. “Now I’m not allowed to talk to him.”

“Is this… are you feeling like this just ‘cause you can’t talk to Wade?”

Peter took a sip of tea.

“No, not… not entirely. Tony-- he took my suit. So I can’t do patrol.”

_Oh._

Wanda nodded. She knew what he meant by that, how every time he heard or saw a reported robbery, or assault, and he knew he could have helped, and he thought it was all on him that it happened.

Patrol was what made Peter feel like he was doing good in the world, like he was doing his part. And by now the suit was almost a part of him-- he moved more easily up walls and through the air than he did through the hallways at school.

Wanda nodded again. Peter kept talking, probably all his thoughts for the past week spilling out by now, like a dam breaking.

“And, yeah, I guess it’s a little bit Wade. I haven’t known him for that long, but like… it’s been a few months. And--”

Wanda almost smiled.

“And you like him,” she supplied.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Peter replied, but he didn’t say no. Instead, he changed the topic. Which made Wanda actually smile, for a moment. She realized that Peter’s dejection was quieter now, and there was just calm, mostly, taking its place.

“What did you think of him, though?” he asked, leaning into her comfortably.

“Of Wade? I mean, at first I… didn’t like him. I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t hurt you, and, like, you know…”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But he means it, Peter-- he trusts you, I think, which… he hasn’t…”

“He hasn’t had that in a while, right?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

The two of them were quiet for a bit, then Peter started, and guilt rushed through him and into Wanda.

“Oh. You were feeling everything I was, before, right?”

Wanda took a careful sip of her tea.

“Yeah-- yeah, I felt it.”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” Peter whispered, “I should have realized, I should have calmed down a little--”

“No, Peter, it’s okay--”

Peter looked unconvinced, but he nodded a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“When are you going to talk to Tony and Steve?” she asked, because he was feeling guilty and angry at himself for not realizing, and Wanda wanted him to stop, because she knew he didn’t mean to make her feel everything she did-- most people couldn’t control any of their emotions at all.

“..I don’t know. I know I need to, though, but… this is Tony and Steve. They’re never going to be okay with me doing patrol again if Wade might be there, you know?”

Wanda nodded. “You’ll figure it out, though.”

“I hope so.”

Wanda sat up a bit and faced him. “You will, Peter. You were born to be a hero, and that’s exactly what you are, and what you’ll be. You’re not the kind of person to let it be any other way.”

Peter looked at her for a moment, and then hugged her fiercely. 

“I love you,”

Wanda did smile, now.

“I love you too.”

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled away from him. She read the notification, and her smile got even wider.

“I think Wade’s still doing patrol for you.”

Peter blinked.

“What?!”

Wanda turned her phone screen towards him, and he read the news headline:

_Witnesses say vigilante recognized as ‘Deadpool’ shut down a bank robbery, turning the two robbers in to the police before disappearing. None injured._

Peter began to grin.


	43. peter: trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally talks to his dads about doing patrol again.
> 
> (and also seeing Wade) (This is spideypool I mean come on)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so bad at posting. Thank you so much for sticking with us, we just finished midterms last week! woooooo midterms
> 
> Anyhow hopefully (cross your fingers) we'll be back to a somewhat normal posting schedule now!!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter <3

“I need to talk to you,” Peter watched as Tony and Steve both jumped a little, then looked at him. Tony looked like he needed a good night’s sleep. Steve looked like he needed a hug. 

Steve looked to Tony for confirmation before he nodded.

The two of them were always doing that— without thinking, they always checked in with each other, even when they fought. Peter almost smiled at their familiarity. Or almost started to cry. Who knows which at this point.

He took a breath.

“Please let me do patrol.” It rushed out of his mouth, and he couldn’t stop a twinge of pleading from entering his voice.

Tony looked at him for a second, then gestured Peter over to the kitchen counter, at which they were sitting. Peter pulled up a stool.

“Peter,” Tony said quietly, “I can’t— I don’t trust you to not see Deadpool.”

Peter swallowed thickly and tried not to react, but he felt something shoot through his skull. Raw hurt surged through him, and he didn’t meet Tony’s eyes.

“And I don’t trust Deadpool not to… not to hurt you.”

Peter gripped the hem of his shirt in his hands, and tried not to let tears spill down his face.

“But,” Steve picked up softly, “Wanda told us that she met him.”

Peter didn’t quite know how to react, and so his brain stopped working for him. He seized up, and, gaining motor controls again, managed to blink.

“What-- what did she say?” he forced himself to speak.

“She said she was pulled under,” Steve paused. “She was pulled under like when she first came here, because his emotions were so strong that she forgot how to tune them out for a second. But then Deadpool helped her. He pushed it away, and he helped her. And she said… she said he didn’t ever want to hurt you. She said he was tired of hurting people. He never wanted to in the first place.”

Peter was swaying in his chair and hugging himself, his eyes closed. He didn’t answer.

But Tony did, and he had never before sounded so exhausted.

“I don’t trust you to stay away from Deadpool, Peter. And I still don’t trust Deadpool won’t hurt you. But,”

Peter made himself look Tony in the eye.

“But Peter, I trust you to do whatever you think is right.” 

Peter couldn’t stop himself from crying, warm tears that snaked down his face and dripped onto the floor with twin _plinks._

“I trust you to be more of a hero than I could ever be, Pete. So you should wear the suit, because I think— I think I didn’t realize that you know at least a little of what you’re doing. By now you can make decisions for yourself, kid.”

Tony reached down into a high-security-type suitcase, and pulled out Peter’s suit, cleaned and folded. He pushed it across the counter, but Peter didn’t grab it. 

Instead, he stood, walked around the counter, and basically fell into Tony and Steve, pulling them all together into a tight, long-overdue hug. And at this point, Steve was definitely crying too, and Tony was pretending not to be.

“Don’t do anything I would do,” Tony whispered weakly, and Peter laughed.

“And stop keeping Karen from telling us when you get yourself hurt,” Steve added sternly.

“And actually ask us for help sometimes,”

“Or even ask Nat! Or Clint! Or literally anyone! I know you have a good healing factor, but it isn’t so good that you can take a few gunshots!”

“I missed you,” Peter sighed. He would listen to a thousand lectures just to have his suit back.

To have his family back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was purging my notes app and found "it was just one elephant at first" how ominous of me


	44. the doctor: heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to know the ‘doctor’, and check in with the Winter Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooo a chapter!!!!
> 
> Still trying to get back to an acceptable posting schedule (or one at all). Sorry we’re not there yet, but thank you lovely people for reading!!
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy the chapter! :)

“We can’t catch him,” the man at the head of the table spoke, his voice smooth. The rest of the room murmured agreements.

The Soldier stared perfectly ahead, though his eyes didn’t see. He heard, but the information skirted his conscious and was filed away. The doctor watched as his creation scanned the room.

“We can’t catch him,” the man repeated. “Not with our current means.” He gestured to the Soldier, and the doctor bristled. They certainly had the means. Only, the new subject had something else-- 

“Doctor,” the man prompted, and the doctor raised his eyes to the man’s shadowed ones. “Report the outcome of the last mission.”

The doctor nodded, standing and clearing his throat.

“Soldier,” he asked, “what do you remember?” a smile spread across his face as the creation answered. It was beautifully done, he’d be the first to admit. Nearly no flaws.

_Nearly._

The Soldier turned to the doctor, his sunken eyes glossing over the room as he stepped off the wall behind the man at the head of the table. When he began to speak, his voice crackled and gave out to a whisper in the first few words-- from lack of use, the doctor presumed. But the Soldier did not stop speaking; he was not told to, after all.

“Target engaged as ordered. Used mixture of hand to hand combat and ko katana. Only off guard when his mask was removed.”

“And then, Soldier?” the man at the head of the table asked.

The Soldier did not speak.

“Soldier?”

“I do not know.”

The man’s hand was a blur through the air, colliding with the Soldier’s jaw before any of the other men or women in the world even blinked.

The doctor watched as a red plume bloomed on the Soldier’s jawbone, floating between slight annoyance and the urge to smile. Instead, he raised his chin and spoke,

“He does not remember, Sir.”

“Yes, Doctor, clearly. Unless it’s experiencing defects?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then, Doctor, pray tell what happened that the Soldier does not remember?”

“The subject said the first word triggering the serum, Sir.” The doctor looked around at the eyes on him, and saw that there was no surprise clouding any of them, and instead they were carefully blank. They already knew.

Someone had spoken freely.

That someone would likely not speak much longer, the doctor decided. This whole thing was all for show, obviously. But the fact that everyone in the room was already aware meant people were being careless, likely doctors attending to the Soldier.

“We need a new plan, Sir.”

“Yes, obviously, Doctor. What is it you suggest?”

“The subject has been seen recently around Stark Tower, and spotted often with Peter Parker, also known as Spiderman. They seem to have become very close, Sir.”

“Spiderman, Doctor, is a dangerous path to pursue. It would risk the, ahem, wrath, of the Avengers as a whole, you’re aware?”

“Yes, Sir. Though I don’t believe it will go that far. Take the boy, send a note, the boy will be back to them before they realize. People do stupid things when they want to be heroes. When they decide to love.”

And the doctor knew no one who wanted to be a hero so much as Wilson did.

No one who wanted to love more.


	45. wade: miss me? (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s back to patrol, and he and Wade are back on their shenanigans like he never left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahahhah
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> We’re so sorry

Wade’s legs dangled off the edge of one of the towers of a wide bridge, feet swinging freely through air. 

He kind of felt like he was flying, looking down on the world as it went on below him, cars rushing by, sound cushioned by the wind and the river.

Wade felt like one of those birds that you see out of the corner of your vision and avoid eye contact with, purely out of fear of a greater power. Needless to say, it was a good feeling.

And then; a gunshot. 

[the fuck?]

Or at least, it sounded like a gunshot. But because no one stopped, and more importantly, no one screamed, Wade didn’t move. He just looked around, surveying the silhouette of the buildings as if reading them like a book.

{was that a firework?}

[fireworks are illegal aren’t they?]

_So is shooting someone?_

White didn’t justify him with a response.

Wade was about to let the whole thing go when he saw a flash of red spandex land on the top of a white box truck.

{who would ever call it a box truck??}

Google. And I think we all know you don’t argue with the gods.

-“A box truck is a chassis cab truck with an enclosed cuboid-shaped cargo area.”-

Exactly, thank you.

{cuboid-shaped????}

_DOn’T QUESTION THE GODS_

Fun, okay, anyhow, 

Wade was about to let the whole thing go when he saw a flash of red spandex land on the top of a white box truck. He didn’t even think for a moment before yelling, 

“Petey!”

He launched to his feet, then off the platform, in a perfect swan-dive. At the last moment, he flipped, landing flawlessly… a few feet short of the truck, rolling to the side to avoid getting run over. And also to avoid breaking his legs. Y’know.

Luckily, Peter heard him shout, and turned, still leaning off the back doors of the truck naturally.

“Wade!” He yelled in response, and although his mask wasn’t nearly as expressive as Wade’s, he was pretty sure Peter was grinning at him.

Wade started to run to catch up with the truck. “You hear the gunshot?” he shouted, and even though Peter could definitely hear him, with the superpowers and all, Peter called back, “Hold on,”

{for…?}

Peter webbed him in the chest, not knocking him off his feet, but surprising him anyhow, enough that he stumbled, and was jerked forward with the movement of the truck.

[for that]

“Pete what the fuck?” 

Peter laughed, and Wade could hear it clearly despite the distance. “Just grab it, will you?”

Wade looped his arm around it twice, gripping it firmly.

“Here we go,” he muttered, and Peter probably heard him, echoing, 

“Here we go!”

Wade shot forward, landing under the arm of a one Peter Parker, on the tiny ladder ledge below the doors of the truck. He could feel Peter’s heartbeat against his arm.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Funny to see you here, huh?”

“Well, see, I figured stuff out with my dads, I think?”

“You think?” Wade countered, but he was now grinning fully.

“I mean I’m here, aren’t—“

Peter froze for a second, like he was listening to something.

“Spidey?”

“My senses are going off again, sorry,”

“So you heard the gunshot?”

“Yep. And my senses were going haywire for a bit before then, too. Kinda peaked when the gun went off.”

“You choose this truck for a reason?”

“Sure did, ‘Pool.”

Wade raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re allowed to do nicknames too now?” 

Peter play-smacked him. Wade grinned.

“So did ya miss me?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come on, my senses went off for a reason. And presumably, so did that gun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let’s be serious for a second. 
> 
> So, we haven’t posted for a month— we’re both so sorry, but writer’s block + depression = absolutely nothing, quite literally. No words happened, plus Coronavirus kinda swept everything and jeez, I don’t even know at this point.
> 
> Rest assured, there’s no plan to abandon this fic. We have the chapters from here on planned out for a good while— and they’re going to be good ones. :) We hope to be back to a more regular schedule now. Thank you so much for reading, stay safe out there y’all <3<3<3


	46. wade: miss me? part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter break into the truck that gunshots came from. They meet a woman who knows Wade's name and... something else.
> 
> PLUS PLOT FINALLY JEEZ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyeee kind of not really on time chapter!
> 
> At this point, we're waay far into the fic and like not at all far into the plot... because earlier we got chapter-happy and added a bunch of stuff that didn't need to be there, and it's all kind of a mess, so. First fic problems heeeyyyy
> 
> At the very least, posting two weeks in a row, and this is a longer chapter! (finally)
> 
> Enjoy. And thank you for reading, like seriously.

Wade lay on the top of the moving vehicle, watching as Peter fiddled with the locked door that led into the back of the truck.

“Whatddya think’ll be in there?” Wade called over the wind, briefly waving at the judgy-looking man who peered at them annoyedly through the windshield of his own car behind them.

“Nothing good,” Peter answered, digging at the lock with a bobby pin that Wade had had in one of his pockets. “My senses are kind of going insane right now. Something’s not right in this truck.”

“You know I always keep on my toes,”

Peter rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, enough that Wade could see it with Peter’s mask still on. He returned to the lock, and only a moment went by before he lifted up the opened lock for Wade to see.

“Got it!”

{he’s adorable}

“Yes, lovely, now give me back my bobby pin Pete do you know how helpful they are in any situation?”

“I’ve never considered it. Well. Here goes nothin’,” Peter grinned briefly at Wade, pausing for a moment too long, before he looked down abruptly and pushed the truck door open in one fluid movement, darting inside.

Wade swung through right after him, and as it closed on its own, a wall of darkness hit his vision so abruptly, he almost thought he’d died.

[ha]

But then pinpricks of light resurfaced like driftwood to the top of a stream, and Wade looked around casually, making sure Peter had gotten in alright.

The truck was small enough that Wade could touch both walls at the same time if he tried, and this room—

{who puts multiple rooms in a truck}

—this room was just long enough for a kinda cramped fight scene, with a door at the far wall that must have led into another cabin.

{how specific}

[lovely writing here]

Wade surveyed the room, noting the vials and the scuffs on the wall. He placed the emergency exit hatch in his mind firmly. Also the blood, in one main firework on the wall, and drips on the floor.

He only stopped when his eyes found the man with the metal arm lying on a table, one leg hanging off, passed out in the corner. Tubes pumping liquid into his veins connected him to the wall.

[well... fuck]

Four people were now staring at him and Peter, all dressed in matching doctor’s masks and white coats, hovering over the metal-armed man.

“Hello!” Wade said brightly, or as brightly as he could manage.

Peter seemed to get that something was off, and he didn’t wait for pleasantries before webbing the man nearest to them to the wall.

[cue the music]

{no we’re not winning yet?? Do you know how fight scenes work}

“What are you doing here?” One man asked dumbly.

Wade launched himself forward, at the tallest ‘doctor’, drawing his katana. It had become a reflex, in the past two months, not to kill, and so he slammed the hilt into their forehead before they could do much other than grab the nearest vial and managed to break it on the counter.

The doctor dropped to the floor, and the liquid from the vial hissed as it met open air, the countertop changing from grey to neon orange where it was touched.

[there’s no way that shit’s legal]

Wade spun to check on Peter, taking stock. He grinned slightly as Pete webbed a lady to the wall, another web covering her mouth when she yelped.

“Ah, Mr. Wilson,”

Wade made the grin stay on his face, even though as he heard the new voice sirens went off in his brain.

He should have expected someone here to know his name.

He turned to the door at the far wall of the room, and looked up into the face of a smirking, tall woman, who had just closed the door behind herself.

[do we know this bitch]

Wade immediately felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder, grounding him.

His eyes flicked to the man with the metal arm, and saw a bandage wrapped around his side, so soaked with blood that it was almost black. He could see a pistol out of the corner of his eye, lying on the countertop.

“Why did you shoot him?” Wade asked quietly, the grin dropping off.

“Oh, that wasn’t meant to happen.” The woman reached toward her belt, and, Wade assumed, her gun. Within a moment, one of his katana was leveled at her face.

The vials, the chords, the tubes— they brought something back to him. Something he’d spent a year trying to lose. Wade shook, but his katana didn’t.

Slowly, the woman raised her hands so they were visible on either side of her head, pale against the stark black walls, her eyebrows raising.

“Then what was meant to happen?” Wade asked, and his voice wasn’t lighthearted anymore.

The woman’s smirk grew.

“Careful, Wilson. Don’t lose control.”

And he didn’t have time to. Instead, Peter’s hand was gone from his shoulder in a blur, and a needle stabbed him in the neck so hard he almost forgot he would heal from anything.

Wade spun immediately, pulling the syringe out, his other katana pointed straight at the last doctor, who was being pushed against the wall by Peter. He was still holding a full syringe.

{he caught it??}

[spidey senses]

Wade looked at the syringe in his hand, still half full with a thick liquid. Some drug to put you to sleep, probably.

Probably placebo, but Wade thought he could feel it racing through his veins.

{ew it looks disgusting}

[fuckin gross]

The tall woman laughed, and before she could blink, Wade had her in a chokehold, using the hilt of his katana to roughly belt in both of her knees, so she keeled over.

She gasped on a shriek, and Wade, for a moment, looked up to check on Peter, who now had the woman who had injected the stuff webbed to the wall. He was asking her questions that Wade couldn’t quite make out… his hearing was a little fuzzy, and his eyes were heavy…

Which was how he forgot that she had a gun.

_Goddamn drug in the goddamn syringe._

It was also how she managed to shoot him through the arm, bullet in one side and out the other, the noise causing Wade’s ears to ring and Peter to look up from the woman stuck to the wall.

{well fuck}

[fuck]

“Ah, fuck,” Wade said numbly, and the woman wrestled her way out of his grip, falling forward, trying to find her feet in the now-swaying truck. 

She swung a fist at Peter, who dodged and tried to web her, except she grabbed his wrists, clawing at the web shooters, looking vaguely like a manic camel.

Wade could feel his arm knit itself back together, muscle and tendon and bone filling the hole that the bullet created, and pulled himself to his feet, not noticing that he used the table that the metal-armed-man lie on.

Slowly, he raised himself from the ground.

His vision was muted, and he blinked, trying to clear it. The hell? Why wasn’t his healing factor…

Peter leapt up, his wrists still bound by the woman’s hands, using both feet to push off her chest, and she stumbled back, letting go. Not the most… honorable move. But, he wasn’t Captain America, even if he was raised by the man.

The woman stumbled into Wade, who tried to pull her into a chokehold again, but this time was flipped over her head, landing flat on his back on the truck’s floor with a groan.

“Oh, fuck this shit,” he murmured.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Peter replied, leaping clean over him. He tackled the woman full on, shoving her against the door.

Wade couldn’t see what he was doing until she dropped to the floor, a now-empty syringe sticking out of her neck.

“Nice,” Wade said weakly.

“Shoot, Wade, are you okay?” Peter rushed over to him, and when Wade nodded, helped him sit up.

“There’s another room, plus the driver to deal with still,” Peter said softly. “I think whatever’s in those syringes is starting to get to you, healing factor or not. My senses stopped going crazy, though, so I don’t think you’re in mortal danger.”

Wade nodded absently.

“Couldn’t really be in mortal danger anyhow. The dude in the corner still out?”

Peter leaned over to look. “Yep. Out cold.”

“Go deal with the driver and shit then, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter smiled at him, and Wade was too tired to feel his heart flutter.

His eyelids were so heavy.

By the time Peter got back to him, he was so tired that Pete basically had to carry him to the front of the truck, where he settled him into the passenger’s seat. The driver had been webbed in the previous room. 

The truck was pulled over on the side of a smaller road, and Peter settled into the driver’s seat.

“I called Shuri to come get us. The guy with the arm got shot, right? I think she’s the best person to deal with it all.”

“Mhm.”

Wade couldn’t remember ever being this tired. 

“You know,” Peter said absently, “this is the worst time for it, but I was wondering whether you’d like to be my boyfriend.”

“What?!” 

Then the darkness of sleep overtook him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay safe and healthy guys <3<3


End file.
